


Portended Prophecies

by WiCeBa



Series: Namesake Necklace [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Bullying, Dolores Umbridge is Her Own Warning, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Severitus | Severus Snape is Harry Potter's Parent, Vulnerable Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:14:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29396790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WiCeBa/pseuds/WiCeBa
Summary: “The Ministry takes a vested interest in ensuring our young witches and wizards are as safe as we can make them and you, dear boy, are very important to Minister Fudge.” Professor Umbridge said, simpering in a self-satisfied way as she said Fudge’s name. “So I must ask you where you’ve been this last August?”Harry coughed into his tea and nearly spilled it over himself.
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore & Harry Potter, Harry Potter & Severus Snape, Sirius Black & Harry Potter
Series: Namesake Necklace [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1982444
Comments: 181
Kudos: 280





	1. Chapter 1

“Harry?” 

Hermione’s soft voice echoed through the bathroom. “Dinner’s half over, do you want me to get Sn—” She stopped short. “Madam Pomfrey, I mean?” 

Harry sniffled and flicked his wand as he cast a quick tempus. 

Nausea cramped along his stomach and sweat dripped down his forehead again. His knees already ached from kneeling on the dusty stone floor. He didn’t know what he’d caught, or why he was so sick. He half wondered if Malfoy had somehow slipped him something, but he hadn’t even seen the ferret yet. 

He’d been back to fifteen for all of two days and it was already going poorly. The pendant on his mum’s necklace swung forward and clinked against the porcelain. 

“Or I could save you a plate?” Hermione said, her voice ringing with concern. “If you think it’s passing?”

He didn’t think he remembered her being this worried about him being sick in the toilet before, or, maybe he did. He’d thrown up when he’d arrived back in first year, but she hadn’t really known him at the time. She mothered him at the start of term since then, the only difference now was that Harry had Snape and Hermione sounded as if she was itching to get him. 

Harry was nearly certain he’d just caught a stomach bug though. Snape couldn’t stop the flu. 

“It’s fine,” He answered back, keeping his voice soft in case anyone else was in the bathroom. He couldn’t remember hearing anyone when he’d entered, but given the dirty looks he’d received upon entering the Great Hall, he wasn’t interested in making waves. 

“Are you sure?” She asked before muttering something beneath her breath. 

“Positive.” Harry said. 

He wanted to add that she should go back to the Great Hall, but he sicked up again before he could say anything else. 

“I’m getting you a stomach soother.” Hermione hissed.

The door slipped shut with a soft click and her footsteps faded, though Harry struggled to pay attention to them. 

He wasn’t sick often. The last time he’d been truly ill might be when he’d been nine or ten and the entire house had caught flu. He vaguely remembered Dudley running a temperature and Aunt Petunia demanding he stay home. In an unsurprising turn of events, Dudley’d attempted to sneak out of the house to play with Piers Polkiss, but he tripped down the steps during his escape and landed so hard on his bottom that he sicked up right there in the hallway. 

Harry remembered being concerned for a brief second before he’d been forced to clean it up. 

As he leant over the toilet, he belatedly realized that he’d probably caught it because he’d cleaned it up. 

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon likely caught it by consistently kissing Dudley’s sweaty forehead. Maybe it was some form of karmic justice. He didn’t think that was necessarily true though, as it really was just the flu. It spread wherever it could. 

Just as it had today with Harry. 

The door opened with a bang and footsteps cracked over the stone as someone stepped closer. 

“Madam Pomfrey says to stop by her after you take this.” Hermione whispered as she knocked on Harry’s stall. “She doesn’t want an outbreak on her hands first thing, but I have a feeling it’s not something she can really stop.” She added distractedly. “I wonder if she’ll have us keep an eye out for the younger students?” 

Nausea spiked again as Harry remembered Hermione and Ron’s new prefect duties. 

“Harry?” 

Harry dipped his head low, unwilling to move until he was sure he could turn around without spewing anything on Hermione. 

“I’ll slip it under the door for you,” She said quietly. “I’m sorry, this is a terrible start to the school year for you.” 

A small vial scraped across the stone floor and Harry grabbed it quickly. He pulled the cork free and downed it without a thought. Once he’d made it into the bathroom, he hadn’t gone more than five minutes without getting sick and he was desperate for a reprieve. 

“We’re missing a very interesting lecture from our new defense professor.” Hermione said as Harry leant away from the toilet. “Well, maybe not interesting. I asked Ron to pay attention for us, but we’re probably out of luck. Her name is Umbridge, the professor, I mean.” He could hear her arranging something in her book bag. “I wonder if we should ask her about those, erm, _horses_ you saw pulling the carriages. I think we have her first thing tomorrow morning.” 

Harry tried to reply, but only gurgled before clearing his throat. 

“I’ll wait and ask—” He paused, catching himself. 

Before Harry left for the Hogwarts Express with the rest of the Weasley’s, Snape had made a point of carefully informing him that their change of relationship couldn’t be openly noticed or discussed. Malfoy would go squealing to his father if he found out, to say nothing of the other Slytherin’s who had Death Eaters for relatives. 

Harry’d initially been upset, though Snape also said he could visit his office whenever he wanted after classes. They just needed to be careful. Hermione and Ron understood once he’d warned them, as had Fred, George and Ginny. 

“Feeling better?” Hermione asked as Harry unlocked the latch and stepped out. She smiled hopefully at him, though her wand was out as if she was prepared to cast a scouring charm. 

“A bit.” Harry nodded, making sure not to move too quickly. “I think I’m alright now.” He added. 

“Lovely, let’s go find Madam Pomfrey.” She said as she spun on her heel and led him out of the bathroom. 

“The Ministry has proudly upheld this great institution. I am equally proud to be here, helping mould young minds—”

An overly sweet voice echoed around them as they slipped into the Great Hall. He wondered if their new Professor could hear her students whispering over her fluffy cardigan or pink Alice band. Harry tried to keep his eyes to himself, though he could feel the eyes of too many students on him as they walked. He wished they’d shove off and ogle someone else for once. 

“—Though progress, for the sake of progress, should never fly in the face of tradition—”

Harry waved Hermione off as he stepped up to the matron, half wondering if he looked sicker than he felt. He couldn’t guess why else Hermione’d have walked with him. 

“Potter,” Madam Pomfrey greeted after dismissing a flushed and sweating first year. “Let me have a look at you then, did you feel ill this morning, or did it come about on the train?” She asked, flicking her wand over Harry’s head. Whatever she’d cast must’ve shown him as being fine, as she nodded to herself over the results and folded her hands. 

“On the train, I think.” Harry said. “Or maybe more once I got here.” 

Madam Pomfrey nodded again and Harry glanced up at where he knew Snape sat, but couldn’t see him, as he was hidden behind McGonagall. 

He cleared his throat against the uncomfortable clagginess that lingered. He didn’t want to be in the Great Hall, being glared and sneered at. Harry almost wished he could go back to Ms Eileen’s and sleep in his own bed tonight, but he tried to remind himself of how much he loved his bed in the Gryffindor tower. Snape had said he could come speak to him after dinner, though he had Head of House duties and several hundred other things to do. 

Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to bother Snape if he was busy either. He didn’t have a fantastic grasp of how their relationship would work while they were at Hogwarts. Ron’s voice echoed in his ears, and he found himself worrying again over if Snape would think Harry was worth his time. 

He shook his head gently and reminded himself that Snape had dealt with plenty of disasters and had yet to think of Harry as a nuisance.

The thought lingered nonetheless, though it was quieter now. 

“Food poisoning, perhaps.” Madam Pomfrey said. “I’ll leave you with a second dose of stomach soother just in case and if you feel ill tonight, don’t hesitate to come by.” 

Harry nodded and took the vial before stealing down the long aisle until he found Ron and Hermione. 

“Alright then?” Ron asked as he licked his fingers. 

“Just fine,” Harry said, chancing another look at Snape. He spotted him this time and shuddered as Snape sneered down at several second years. “What did I miss?” 

“Nothing, Umbridge is mental.” Ron groaned. 

“Ron!” Hermione started, cracking her dessert fork on the table. Lavender and Parvati glared at her before turning back to their conversation. “I asked you to listen for me!” 

“And I did!” Ron argued. “She said a lot about the new term and about wanting to be—” His voice pitched high as he mimicked Umbridge’s tone. “A friend and confidant to her new students.” 

Hermione’s eyes widened and she picked her fork up again. “She said she wants to be our friend?” 

“Ron’s right, she sounds mental.” Harry said. 

His stomach cramped, but the soother kept him from running to the toilet. 

“I only caught the part where she spoke about stalling progress.” Hermione said. A thin line creased over her forehead. “It sounded ominous. Why would she want to step in the way of progress?” She asked. 

“She reminds me of Percy. It’s probably all bollocks.” Ron said. 

“It sounds like Ministry intervention.” Hermione said, leaning toward the two of them. “I don’t think it’s bollocks.” 

“Doesn’t really matter though, does it?” Ron asked. “She’ll be gone by the end of the year anyway.” He said before crossing his arms. 

Hermione grimaced. 

Harry scratched at his forehead and tried to shake off a shiver. He wasn’t sure if he’d caught something particularly nasty or if his body just wasn’t used to fighting illness off. He’d have thought he’d be very skilled at fending off the flu, given how rarely he’d had it growing up. 

“I don’t want to trust a jinx I’m not even sure exists.” Hermione whispered. 

Harry grabbed a goblet and tried to swallow some water, though his stomach didn’t appreciate it. He wondered what he’d be doing if he’d been in Germany and gotten this sick. 

“We’ve yet to have one last though, you’ve seen it yourself.” Harry said, turning back to their conversation. 

“Right, see?” Ron nodded. “You’re over worrying." 

Hermione looked as if she disagreed, but she kept her thoughts to herself. She turned their conversation toward Hagrid’s disappearance and Professor Grubbly-Plank’s reinstatement instead. 

Harry managed to swallow a bit more water before Dumbledore stood and bade them a goodnight. 

Despite Harry, Ron, and Hermione’s time honoured tradition of making their way to their dormitory together, they split so Ron and Hermione could fulfill their prefect duties. 

Harry’d forgotten that they’d been selected as prefects again. 

Ron looked particularly put out and Hermione seemed less interested in helping first years than she’d initially led Harry to believe. She gave Harry a stern look and eyed the small vial of stomach soother before disappearing into the crowd. 

The curious looks and disgusted glares were almost getting to him. He didn’t love the idea of making his way to the common room alone. 

He rounded the faded armoured knights and made his way toward the Grand Staircase before pausing and eyeing the entrance to the dungeons. 

Cool air cut through his sweaty hair, making him shiver. He worried again about how Snape might react to his sudden appearance in his office, or around the Slytherin dormitory. He desperately wanted to escape the wave of students at that moment but before he could give it much thought, Colin Creevey appeared with a note in his hand. 

Harry’s stomach almost seemed to settle at the sight of it. Maybe Snape had noticed Harry’s disappearance at dinner and would have something stronger to fight his flu. 

Seamus pushed past them before Colin even spoke, nearly shoving him into Harry as he stormed up the staircase. He ignored Colin, though he found time to sneer at Harry before turning away. Dean followed quickly after and tossed them both an apologetic look. 

“What’s up with Seamus?” Colin asked before passing the note over. “I thought he was an alright sort of bloke?

A cloying sweet perfume sailed out from the note and Harry’s stomach flipped from calm to nauseas again. 

“I don’t know, maybe he ate something that didn’t agree with him?” Harry said distractedly. 

“Why would he be angry with us if he ate something?” Colin asked. He climbed to his tip-toes and tried to catch Seamus’s eyes again, but failed. “Anyway, Professor Umbridge told me to give this to you,” He looked down and a faint flush cut across his cheeks. “Also I just wanted to say that I, er, well I—”

Harry blinked up and watched as Colin was caught in his thoughts. He wasn’t sure how long he could patiently stand here. His mouth had started watering and he had a feeling he was moments away from getting sick again. 

“Well, I believe you.” Colin said with a firm nod. “I believe what you said about Cedric, I mean. And about You-Know-Who.” 

Harry nodded and tried to smile. “Thanks, Colin.” He said lamely. 

“My brother believes you too. We’re on your side.” He said. 

“Thanks,” Harry said, feeling more awkward by the second. “I really, erm, appreciate it.” He added. “I’m gonna—” He held the sickeningly sweet-smelling note up and Colin nodded before turning and running headlong into a suit of armour. 

It crashed to the ground and spilled over the stone floor. Several hufflepuffs shrieked as a shield slid into them and knocked them over. 

“Sorry!” Colin shouted over his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to-I’ll just—” He cut himself off and shoulders rose up around his ears as he dashed up the staircase. 

Harry turned as gently as he could and stole into the boys lavatory, making his way to the toilet just in time to throw up what little water he’d tried to keep down. He wasn’t sure how long a stomach soother usually lasted for, but he felt the one he’d taken should’ve kept him from getting sick this quickly. 

He rubbed his sleeve over his nose and tried to take measured breaths. 

The note wasn’t helping. It’s perfume felt as if it were actually intentionally making him sick.

He flipped the note open and tried to dry his sweaty palms as he read the spidery slanted handwriting. 

_‘Dear Mr Potter, please find me in my office on the third floor this evening, I have a few concerns to discuss with you. Signed, Professor Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic.’_

Something tightened around his heart as the pendant hummed softly against his chest. 

Maybe Hermione’d been right to worry. 

He debated his options and sniffled wetly. He could take the other stomach soother and try and get this meeting over with quickly, but if the soother only lasted ten or so minutes, he’d be throwing up in Umbridge’s office before long. That would be a dead awful first impression. 

Madam Pomfrey hadn’t thought his nausea was anything serious either, so it didn’t seem likely that if he went to her, she’d give him anything other than an overnight stay in the Hospital Wing. Harry was very interested in avoiding that. He didn’t think he’d ever stayed overnight at the Hospital Wing on his first night back at Hogwarts and he wasn’t about to break that record. 

He pulled the stopper on the second vial and swallowed it as quickly as he could before making his way up the Grand Staircase and through the connecting corridors. 

Despite how sick he felt and how much this note worried him, being back in Hogwarts was a balm all on its own. 

The high glass windows, winding passageways and curling staircases grew around him. It felt as if they'd been steeped in something older than Harry could fathom and their soft whispers echoed to whoever tread past them. 

Harry wondered idly about the phrase ‘if walls could speak,’ and what Hogwarts might say if it could. 

He stopped short in front of the heavy iron banded door guarding the Defense office and knocked. He hoped this meeting could be handled in under five minutes. His stomach was blissfully calm for the moment, though he knew it wouldn’t last. 

Perhaps there was a jinx on Harry that prevented him from having a pleasant first week of term. 

It wouldn’t have surprised him. 

“Enter!” A girlish voice called from inside. 

Harry swiped his sleeve over his brow again and cast a freshening charm on his robes. He hoped he got the wand movement correct, but given the sweat still dampening under his arms, he doubted he had. 

He shoved the door open and nearly retched again as the cloying perfume wrapped around him. 

“Ah, Mr Potter.” Professor Umbridge smiled as he stepped closer. Taffy-pink ribbons lay end to end around a claw foot desk and several fluffy pink rugs covered the worn wooden floor. A yowling collection of China plates, each with a singularly painted cat, cried and hissed from the walls. 

Harry had a sudden memory of the China plates he’d broken at Privet Drive and he forced himself to push his shudders away.

He coughed against the clogged feeling in his throat and tried to screw his face up to look as if he hadn’t spent most of his evening curled around a toilet. 

“Good evening, Professor.” Harry said. 

“You received my message, I’m so pleased.” Professor Umbridge said with a toothy smile. “I was unsure if we’d have time to chat before lessons started tomorrow, but I had a few concerns I wanted to discuss, like I mentioned in my note.” 

Harry nodded and rocked awkwardly on his heels. 

“Please, do have a seat,” She said as she flicked her wand, oddly short and pale in colour, and summoned an overstuffed pink armchair. 

Harry hoped Umbridge’s preference for pink didn’t ruin his love for his mum’s flat. 

He slowly sat on the edge of the seat and cast a quick look around for any rubbish bins in case he’d need it soon. 

“Now,” Professor Umbridge started again. She waved her wand in several arcs and summoned a painted tea pot in a pink cozy. “I want you to feel comfortable with me, dear, I understand how difficult it is to be a young person growing into a well rounded adult.” She said as she charmed the teapot to pour two cups and sent one floating toward Harry and the other toward herself. “And I came across something that greatly concerned me this past summer and in the interest of your safety, I knew I needed to get to the bottom of it quickly.” 

Harry blinked dumbly as she gestured for him to drink. He didn’t fancy throwing up the overly perfumed tea, but he forced himself to take a polite sip. 

“The Ministry takes a vested interest in ensuring our young witches and wizards are as safe as we can make them and you, dear boy, are very important to Minister Fudge.” Professor Umbridge said, simpering in a self-satisfied way as she said Fudge’s name. “So I must ask you where you’ve been this last August?” 

Harry coughed into his tea and nearly spilled it over himself. 

Professor Umbridge’s smile went wooden at the mess, but brightened again seconds later. 


	2. Chapter 2

“Mr Potter?” 

A loud buzzing began ringing in Harry’s ears. He tried to gently shake it away, but it continued humming with a persistent tone. Professor Umbridge didn’t seem to notice the sound and Harry worried he was closer to some kind of episode than he’d initially thought. Sweat ran down his neck and dampened his shirt collar. 

Had he fallen asleep and dreamt this up? 

He hadn’t been the best sleeper lately and it wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to have nodded off. It might be a dream, given how strange his dreams usually were. If it was a dream, it was frighteningly realistic. Realistic and bizarre. 

Dreams could be bizarre and realistic though, so that made sense. 

Snape’s voice whispered discordantly over the buzzing, asking Harry how he could wonder whether or not this was a dream if he was the one doing the dreaming. If he knew this was his dream, why hadn’t he woken up? If this was his dream, he wasn’t sure how or why he’d created Professor Umbridge. Why would he have created someone who enjoyed an alarming amount of pink and preferred crying cats on China plates? This line of thinking only served to confuse Harry more.

Maybe his subconscious desperately wanted him to go back to his mum’s flat? 

Pink didn’t feature everywhere in his mum’s flat though, it was mostly in the sitting room, and that made this being a dream feel even more unlikely. 

“Mr Potter?” Professor Umbridge asked again as she leant closer and folded her hands. “Did you hear my question?” 

Harry blinked and set his tea cup onto the desk. 

“Erm, I don’t—”

“It’s quite simple really,” Professor Umbridge’s painted lips tightened. “You see, given your behaviour and the events at the end of last term, the Ministry saw fit to check up on you.” 

Horror thrummed through Harry, only adding to the roiling nausea swimming in his stomach. 

Why hadn’t Aunt Petunia mentioned the Ministry to Snape when he’d written her? Had she written Snape back? Harry suddenly couldn’t remember if they’d actually communicated, or if Snape had just owled her Dudley’s cure. 

What did Professor Umbridge mean by Harry’s behaviour as well? 

He hoped she didn’t mean his behaviour surrounding Voldemort’s rebirth. Harry felt it was obvious as to why he’d acted out of character after that. He’d behaved exactly as he imagined someone who’d been kidnapped and tortured and left to their own devices might, so that really couldn’t have been out of character. 

Even after three months he was still a bit off, despite attempting to process the events. He knew the Ministry didn’t believe his story and that infuriated him, but they couldn’t deny Cedric’s death. They must’ve known he hadn’t dropped dead of his own accord. Of course Harry’d be a bit off after witnessing something like that, regardless of whether or not they believed him about Voldemort. Snape had worked with him for nearly a month now though and he’d started slowly coming around. 

Professor Umbridge’s eyes flickered to a roll of parchment on her left. 

The writing was nearly too thin for Harry to read, but he thought he spotted several names in a row. 

“You do live with your aunt, do you not?” She asked. 

Harry’s mouth started watering again and he searched the office once more for a rubbish bin. Should he say he was ill and run? It wouldn’t be a lie and being sick might buy him time to speak with Snape. 

Why hadn’t they come up with a plan in case this happened? Snape usually thought of everything and if he didn’t, Ms Eileen caught what he missed. 

“Harry, dear?” 

Professor Umbridge’s eyes found Harry’s and he worried for one heart stopping moment that she was a Legilimens. She didn’t look as if she’d learned anything from Harry’s thoughts though, not in the way Snape described it. 

Her dark brown eyes searched Harry’s, but thankfully seemed to come up empty. 

Snape had made it sound as if it was nearly impossible to lie in the face of legilimency. Not that Harry’d lied yet.

He hadn’t even said anything. 

The smile slid from her lips and a concerned look replaced it. She stood and slowly circled around her desk. The taffy-pink ribbons seemed to fade as she came closer, as did the crying cats. It was as if she took up all the available space, though Harry didn’t think she’d grown in size. She wasn’t a large woman, Harry actually thought she’d been relatively short, but at the moment he felt very much like he had when he’d been six and Uncle Vernon loomed over him. 

“Now, you poor dear,” Professor Umbridge began with a strangely kind tone. Harry blinked at the change. The cloying perfume faded, leaving the room blissfully unscented for a moment as she reached a hand out and grasped him gently around his shoulder. “I want you to know that I’m your friend before I’m the Senior Undersecretary. You see, Minister Fudge seems to think you’re in need of a firm hand, but I—” She gave a soft titter as she gestured to herself. “I am more of the opinion that you’ve just had a rough go of things and haven’t found your feet yet.” 

The soft fabric backing of the armchair hit Harry’s neck and he realized that the closer she’d come, the farther away he’d tried to move away. 

“Would you say that’s about right?” She asked kindly. 

His stomach rolled in an uncomfortably icy way, but he didn’t throw up. He wasn’t even sure if he could throw up, as he suddenly found himself struggling to move at all. Maybe this truly was a dream and he’d fallen asleep over the toilet. Hermione might be trying to shake him awake. That would explain the hand in his shoulder, though it didn’t explain his inability to move. 

Sleep paralyzed the body, or at least it was supposed to, wasn’t it? 

A knock on the door forced Umbridge away. She stood so quickly her coiffed curls fell forward and slipped out of place, seeming to break whatever held Harry so forcibly still. Her heels cracked loudly over the wooden floor as she sped toward the door.

Harry inhaled greedily the farther she moved away. He must’ve stopped breathing at some point, but he couldn't guess when it’d happened. The awful perfume rushed back around him and he coughed heavily against it. He wasn’t sure where it’d gone or how it’d left, but it coated his throat now.

He shivered and pushed himself to sit up, fighting the uncomfortable, relaxed feeling sinking in him. 

What had happened? 

He flinched as he heard her twist the lock on the door. He couldn’t remember having heard her lock it in the first place.

“Yes-oh!” Professor Umbridge said sweetly. “Professor Trelawney, isn’t it?” 

Trelawney’s warbling voice echoed from the doorway, though it was cloudy in Harry’s ears. 

Harry wrenched himself to his feet and wobbled for a moment as he struggled to stand. He didn’t want to be in this room anymore. He didn’t want to be on the third floor anymore. He wanted to be as far from Professor Umbridge as he could get and he couldn’t decide if that meant he’d need to escape to the Common Room or to the dungeons. 

The yowling cats broke through the dampening buzzing and seemed uncharacteristically loud. In fact they were much louder than they’d been when he’d first entered. 

“The Staffroom? Of course, in ten minutes you say?” Professor Umbridge asked. 

It sounded as if Snape wouldn’t be in his office anyway and Harry didn’t have much choice then but to escape to the Common Room. Later, if he could, he might sneak down to Snape’s office. He’d check the Marauders Map and make sure it didn’t seem as if Snape was too busy for a visit. 

He twisted on his heel and tipped sideways before falling into the armchair. His head swam as a lump shot up his throat and he jerked backwards, missing the armchair by a hair as he finally sicked up. 

Professor Umbridge recoiled at the sound and sucked in a gasp as she caught sight of Harry. 

Harry pressed his palm to his mouth. 

Humiliation burst through him and he tried to vanish the mess quickly, though after failing twice, he forced himself to cast a scouring charm instead. It left several thick scars over the worn floor, but cleaned it well enough. 

“I’m sorry, Professor!” He coughed as he made for the door. “I don’t feel well, excuse me.” 

Professor Umbridge jerked out of his way, as did Trelawney. He thought he heard Trelawney call out an awkward consolation and something about ginger tea, but he ignored them both in favour of getting as far from them as he could. 

His heart thundered in his chest and the necklace began warming in an attempt to help. 

He realized with a shock that it’d been cold for the entire meeting. It always reacted to fear or anger before and he didn’t understand why it hadn’t warmed, because Harry had been plenty fearful. He didn’t love to think of himself giving into his emotions like that, but he couldn’t very well lie to himself at the moment. 

This Umbridge woman was just a professor though, he tried to tell himself. She wasn’t worth being worried or fearful of, despite their awful meeting. He certainly needed to watch out for her, but being actively scared wouldn’t help him. 

He rounded the corner and dashed up several sets of stairs, taking care to avoid the steps that vanished.

The portraits burst noisily around him, gossiping, singing, and joking as he passed them by. It felt too normal and as if he hadn’t just sat through one of the most uncomfortable meetings in his life. He felt there should’ve been some louder type of reaction, though he wasn’t sure what he was specifically searching for. He supposed he really shouldn’t judge the strangeness of a meeting by the castle’s reaction, given that it housed far stranger things than Umbridge without seeming off. 

“Harry!” Ron’s voice called from high above. “Where’ve you been!?” He asked.

Harry gave him a short wave and they made their way toward each other with Ron chattering the entire way down. He mentioned the new first years and his shock at how small they were, Fred and George and their newest merchandise, something that involved a horrendous type of monkey, and lastly, his prefect duties and poor opinion of them.

“You wouldn’t believe all the work we’ve got to do on top of homework. It’s mental, mate.” Ron said as they met near the entrance to the fifth floor. “Those midgets don’t know how good they’ve got it. We had Percy for a prefect, remember? _'_ _I’ll be checking beds at night to ensure there’s no sneaking about’_.” Ron said, mimicking Percy’s no-nonsense tone. “Though, They do have to suffer Hermione, unlucky little tossers. I bet she’s already drawn up maps with the best routes to the library for them.” 

Harry desperately wanted to laugh, though he didn’t fancy sicking up again if he did. 

“Are you alright?” Ron asked after a moment. His eyes widened as he looked Harry over. “You look pale.” He said. “Really pale, mate.” 

Harry shook his head and sucked in a gasp of blissfully cool and unperfumed air. “I have to go throw up,” He said blandly. “And I have to tell you about Umbridge.”

Ron’s forehead creased, but he followed Harry down the fifth floor corridor without complaint. 

“You’re still sick?” He asked as they swept into the lavatory. 

Harry grunted a yes and made for the toilet. There wasn’t even anything to throw up, as he hadn’t been able to keep anything down once he’d gotten off the train. He’d thought water would be safe, but he’d been dreadfully wrong.

“You’re sure you wouldn’t rather go to the Hospital Wing?” Ron asked. 

“Positive.” Harry said with a hacking cough. “Pomfrey said she thought it was food poisoning, so there isn’t really anything to do about it.” 

Ron shuffled in place and sniffed. 

“I don’t know, food poisoning doesn’t really make people this sick, does it?” 

“I haven’t actually had food poisoning before.” Harry said, after a moment of contemplation. “I don’t really know how sick is too sick. I guess if I’m still sick in the morning, I’ll go to Pomfrey.” 

“You don’t think it has anything to do with what happened over the summer, do you?” Ron asked. 

“How could it?” Harry said, spitting, flushing the toilet and wiping his mouth off as made his way out of the stall. 

“I dunno, I’m just asking.” Ron said. He rubbed his nose and glanced nervously around the lavatory. “Maybe it’s like, you’re body not knowing it can eat more than a six—”

Harry waved Ron off with a sharp movement before he threw up the muffling charm Snape had taught him over the summer. 

“Sorry,” Ron winced. “I forgot we knew that spell.” 

Harry nodded, though he couldn’t say whether he was actually alright with their conversation potentially having been eavesdropped on. He was more worried about Snape’s cover remaining intact than anyone learning about his having been six though. 

“Speaking of the summer,” Harry began leaning over and trying to hear if anyone else was in the bathroom. “Umbridge knows I wasn’t at the Dursley’s.” 

Ron grimaced and tossed a second look around the loo, double checking again that it really was as empty as it looked. 

“How?” He asked. “When would she have learned that?”

Harry shrugged before twisting and splashing water over his face. 

“It was awful though, she was—” He paused, wondering suddenly if he wanted to tell Ron everything about the unnerving meeting. He couldn’t very well keep the entire thing secret, not when he had to attend her class in the morning. They’d probably wonder what was wrong with him if he acted strangely around a teacher he supposedly hadn’t met. “She was just really weird.” 

“Weird like,” Ron paused and seemed to struggle to find the right words. “Weird like, we need to watch out around her, or weird like Lockhart?” He asked as his eyes turned serious. 

Harry snickered. “I’m not sure anyone is weird like Lockhart.” 

The foreboding nausea that had followed him for the last few hours finally seemed to dull, though it hadn’t faded.

Ron gave him a forced smile. 

The porcelain blissfully chilled Harry’s sweaty back as he leant against the sinks and stared down at his trainers. Ms Eileen had found the shoes at the market. They weren’t ratty in the slightest and she’d even charmed the sides red, all because Harry’d mentioned liking the colour. 

“Come on,” Ron said with a sniff. He gave Harry a look he’d rarely seen before and often only directed at Ginny. “Let's go warn Hermione about another Professor who’s out to kill you.” 

Harry huffed. 

“She might not want me dead.” He said, trying to lighten the mood. “I don’t actually know all of what she wants or knows, I was sick in her office and ran away before she could start anything.” 

Ron shook his head and took a deep breath before steering him from the bathroom. 

“You know, that’s my dream escape.” Ron said as they climbed the stairs and neared the entrance to the Common Room. “They can’t argue with you if they think you’re sick. _Especially_ when you’re actually sick.” 

Harry nodded. 

“Maybe Fred and George hit on a good idea with their products. Umbridge couldn’t really say much with me spewing everywhere.” 

“Tell that to Mum,” Ron mumbled as they climbed through the portrait hole. “She thinks they’ll go broke in a month.” 

The Common Room bustled with a subdued excitement. Several groups of yawning students were draped over the couches as they talked about their summers and the upcoming year. Harry could almost pretend it felt normal, if not for the forced silence that surrounded him when he passed them by. 

He wished they’d get it out of their system. He was almost glad Colin mentioned believing him, though he wished he’d felt less ill when they’d spoken. 

Ron made a beeline for Hermione and Harry followed, eager to avoid the stares and sneers. 

Hermione looked up from a book and a thick roll of parchment. She smiled and gestured for them to sit in the squashy armchairs she’d commandeered. She looked to have set up quite a comfy and secluded looking spot while he and Ron had been gone. 

“How are you feeling? I’m glad Ron found you, you haven’t been sick this whole time, have you?” She asked quickly. 

“Bad news out the gate.” Ron said, dropping into a chair and flicking his wand the same way Harry had in the bathroom. 

The muffling charm hummed around them. 

“Not the worst news,” Harry started, heading off Ron’s dry tone. “Just not great.” 

“Not great?” Ron echoed as he gave Harry a disbelieving look. “You’ve been back for two days and thing’s have already gone poorly.” 

Harry dearly wanted to shrink in on himself at that comment. He sank slowly into a chair instead. 

“Ron!” Hermione hissed with a glare. She looked as if she’d wanted to say something more, but she kept her mouth shut instead. “What is it then? Don’t tell me Malfoy actually does know about what happened this summer. I swear, I knew he might, what with how he carried on at our prefect’s meeting.” 

Harry winced as a faint memory floated to the surface of his thoughts and Dumbledore’s voice echoed in his ears. 

After he’d escaped Avery and woken up in Grimmauld Place, he’d snuck into the kitchen and heard the Order discussing Voldemort. Dumbledore said Avery spilled everything about Harry being six. 

If Voldemort knew, Lucius Malfoy must’ve known. 

There was no way then, that Draco Malfoy didn’t know Harry’d been six. Lucius wouldn’t have kept that gem to himself. 

Harry fell forward and dropped his head into his palms. 

“Oh,” Hermione said weakly. “Maybe, well, maybe it’ll be alright?” She added equally faint. “Maybe he was-he was bluffing?” 

“Hardly, that’s two things to worry about now.” Ron said with a groan. “Is there anything else we want to add while we’re talking about it? Snuffles hasn’t shown himself at the Ministry or anything, has he? Sn-er,” Ron paused and Harry was nearly tempted to look up from where he’d hidden his face, but he couldn’t stomach the thought yet. 

He couldn’t imagine the torment Malfoy would cause this year. 

“Two things?” Hermione asked quietly. 

“Umbridge wants Harry dead.” 

Harry sat up this time, giving himself an uncomfortable dose of vertigo. “No!” He said sharply. “She doesn’t, or at least I don’t think she does.” He said. 

Umbridge hadn’t mentioned anything about wanting Harry dead. She’d tried to piece together where he’d been in August, which was a sharp cry from wanting someone dead. He understood why Ron would make that leap, but he wasn’t keen to add another person to the steadily lengthening list of people who wanted him dead. 

“She’s just weird.” Harry said as his nose wrinkled at the phantom scent of her perfume. “She has a thing for the colour pink and cats and I can’t tell if she drugged the tea or if I just have food poisoning.” 

“I thought you were sure it was food poisoning!” Ron said with a worried look. 

Hermione stared at him for a long moment before snapping her book shut and standing. 

“I’m getting—” She paused before huffing and gritting her teeth. “Do we have a name for _them_ yet? I’d like to know before one of us really slips up.” 

Ron stared open mouthed at her before making an aborted, unsure sound. 

“Er,” Harry started before shaking his head ‘no’. 

“Fine. I’m going to pick one on the way down. Will you get the map please so we can do this delicately.” Hermione said, forcing her voice to soften as she shoved aside the careful stack of parchment and books she’d arranged. 

Harry shook his head ‘no’ again. “They’re in a staff meeting.” 

Hermione’s eyes darkened and she threw herself back into her seat. 

Harry wasn’t sure if he even wanted to run to Snape. What if he was busy, or dealing with Malfoy? Or Dumbledore or Umbridge? Or any plethora of tasks. 

What if he thought Harry was overreacting or being clingy? 

This was clingy behaviour, Harry knew he should admit that. He hadn’t ever had an adult he could just run to before and he didn’t want to ruin their relationship by getting Snape for every little thing. 

What would he even say? 

He could imagine it now. Harry would stumble over his words and moan about being uncomfortable in Umbridge’s office and maybe he’d say something like, ‘I can’t say for sure, but I think she might’ve hexed or drugged my tea’. Snape would be distinctly displeased. He liked to have concrete facts before he listened to accusations against people, so he wouldn’t like for Harry to make wild claims. 

What if it turned out like the last four years, with Harry worrying and Snape thinking he was just an attention seeking toe-rag?

“How long do those meetings last, do you think?” Hermione asked as she bit her thumbnail. “An hour? Less than that?” She glanced over her shoulder at the clock on the wall. 

“It’s the first night, probably more than an hour?” Ron guessed. 

Hermione scoffed and folded her arms. 

“Maybe we bother Fred and George for a prank and we break up the meeting, like we did at—” Ron waved at what Harry guessed meant Grimmauld Place. 

“I don’t think it’d work.” Harry said. “Plus, Umbridge is in there right now.”

Hermione nodded. 

“I hate this.” She said after a moment. “I knew he knew something, ferret.” She whispered under her breath and glared at the scarlet rug before the fire. She looked up at Harry and seemed to change tacks. “What’s something specific to them, Harry? A name we can call them that we won’t accidentally say during regular conversation? I mean, of course we’ll still use their name, but that’s only for when we want the-the less useful version of themselves!”

Harry nodded and sat back as he tried to think of something specific that had happened over the summer. 

There were plenty of events to draw from, though he wasn’t sure he wanted Ron or Hermione knowing about all of them. Some of the stories were more precious to Harry than he was willing to admit and he wasn’t sure he wanted to share all of them. He wasn’t sure how Snape would feel if he shared them as well. Several were small, inconsequential moments from within the horrible beginning of August, but they were all the more special to Harry for that. 

He thought of the plaits his mum had tried styling in Snape’s hair and the stories about the arguments between the two. He quickly found himself thinking of Germany again, and of the small stuffed dog that sat on his bed. Ms Eileen had promised to look after it despite Harry being fifteen again and knowing that it didn’t need much care. The memory of their unofficial Gobstones championship and how they’d forced Snape into participating the night before leaving for Hogwarts rang in his ears. 

“I don’t really know, you two don’t have any suggestions, do you?” Harry said as he curled his fingers loosely around the edge of his jumper. 

Now that he truly thought about it, Harry couldn’t guess if he was protective of his memories for selfish reasons or not. Snape would probably be annoyed if Ron and Hermione knew the ins and outs of every moment he and Snape had experienced, but he would likely understand if Harry wanted to share stories with his friends. 

“Bat.” Ron said after a moment. 

Hermione tossed him a withering look. “No, that’s too obvious for one and we’re giving them a second chance.” 

Ron raised his hands apologetically. 

“What about,” Hermione started before pausing and blinking down at the rug again. She scoffed and dropped her chin into her palms. “This is actually quite hard.” 

Harry laughed, feeling normal for the first time all day. 

“I’m going to ask Fred and George, they’ll know something off the cuff.” Ron said as he stood. “Do you want to check the map, Harry?” He asked before stepping passed a few snoring second years. 

Harry nodded and made his way to the dormitory. He bypassed a few dirty looks and some uncomfortably friendly ones, all the while trying to remind himself that it was probably alright to speak with Snape tonight. He was busy, but he’d specifically said Harry could come visit. 

If he hadn’t wanted Harry to visit, he’d have said not to. 

Wouldn’t he? 

Hermione seemed to think they could get him anytime they liked, though Harry was very unsure of that. This wasn’t summer nor was it Germany. If he loitered around the dungeons day in and day out, someone was bound to notice. 

Maybe he should have a limit? Perhaps he could visit for one day out of every week.

He shook his head gently and tried to push away the slowly growing nausea again. Once a week was still too often to visit a professor who, by all accounts, hated the very air Harry breathed. Maybe there was a secret passageway that led to Snape’s office? That seemed like the sort of thing Snape would have. 

He shoved the dormitory door open and stepped inside. 

“You’re still here then?” Seamus asked from where he’d thrown himself across his bed. “Don’t you have some attention seeking to do?” His voice dripped with derision. 

Harry twisted and eyed him before trying to slow his breathing and clear his mind. Snape had mentioned Occlumency being good for a great many instances and this felt like one of them. 

“I can’t believe they haven’t expelled you yet? Not even after all your lies?” 

Not that Harry was feeling particularly good at Occlumency at the moment. He tried to remind himself that this was hardly the worst sort of bullying he’d been on the receiving end of. 

He also tried to remind himself that Occlumency was more for his own benefit than others. 

Dean whispered a sharp sound at Seamus before turning back to Harry. “He doesn’t mean that, he’s sorry.” He said. 

“Yes, I do mean that!” Seamus snapped. “And I’m not sorry.” 

Harry waved him off and kicked open his trunk. He half wondered if Snape would feel it was an invasion of privacy for Harry to snoop on his whereabouts, but it wasn’t like Harry hadn’t done just that before. 

“Do you know what I had to do in order to convince my mum to let me come back to Hogwarts because of you?” Seamus asked. “Do you—”

“You’re mad at me because your mum wanted to protect you?” Harry asked. “Sounds rough mate, really.” He added as he plucked the map from its hiding place and glared at Seamus. 

Seamus coloured and he shoved his wand downward in a sharp arc. 

“It’s not like you’d get that, Potter.” He snapped. 

Harry’s hands tightened into fists around the map and nausea roiled through him again. 

“Stop it, Seamus.” Dean said, crossing his arms. “You made it here and it’s not like Harry was begging your mum to keep you from Hogwarts. Yelling at him isn’t going to change her opinion.” 

Seamus threw a fierce glare at Dean before flicking his wand in another sharp movement and lighting Harry’s bed covers on fire. Harry jerked backwards and drew his own wand, but Dean hopped to his feet and smothered it with a wave. 

“Seamus!” Dean shouted. 

Rather than answering, Seamus turned into his pillow and thrust the covers over his head. 

Acrid black smoke slunk lazily from the blanket and rose to the ceiling. Harry didn’t know if ‘ _reparo’_ would work very well on burn marks. He wondered if he should just ask Dobby for a new cover. 

Despite having grown up in cast-offs, Harry was surprisingly poor at mending spells. 

He didn’t want to think about why that was. 

“I’m sorry.” Dean whispered. “I’m sorry, Harry.” He said again as they both stared at the blackened hole in Harry’s blanket. “I’ll talk to him, please don’t get McGonagall.” 

Harry almost let out a laugh. McGonagall wouldn’t care much about a burn mark on Harry’s covers. 

He paused and blinked when it occurred to him that Snape might, though. 

He wondered how Snape would feel if someone burned a hole in Harry’s blanket in Germany. He’d been fastidious with Harry’s bedroom there. Fastidious and frighteningly specific. Harry’d never been able to convince him to swap sleeping arrangements throughout the entirety of August. He wasn’t sure if this bed held the same meaning as the one in Germany though. 

“It’s fine.” Harry said before twisting on his heel and slipping out the door. 

He whispered the passcode for the map and unfolded the inner sections until the first floor was revealed. Several professors milled about near the Staffroom, though it didn’t look as if whatever meeting they were meant to attend had finished. 

“Is Ruffles free?” Hermione asked once she spotted Harry. 

Harry stopped short. “Ruffles?” He asked. 

“Fred and George thought it was hysterical. Snuffles and Ruffles.” Hermione said in a deadpan voice. “On account of how easy it is to ruffle them.”

Ron snickered. 

“They’ll _hate_ that.” Harry said, dreading the idea of ever informing Snape of that name. To say nothing of the hell Sirius would raise if he ever learned Snape’s nickname rhymed with his. He mentally promised himself to think of something else for Snape that wouldn’t eventually lead to a screaming match. 

“We’ll think of something better later. I’d really like to know if Ruffles is free now though, please.” Hermione said, leaning over the armchair. “I think it’s rather important.” She said with a stern look. 

Harry shook his head ‘no’ and passed the map over. 

“What are we supposed to say anyway?” He asked. “It’s not like anything happened.” 

“Several things, the first being that you think our professor drugged you!” Hermione said whispering violently under her breath. “That’s not normal behaviour!” 

“I mean, in a way, it is.” Ron said, though he backtracked quickly. “Not that it makes this any better, I mean, we know it’s not entirely out of the ordinary though, so S-Ruffles wouldn’t think we’re-we’re—” His eyes flickered to the ceiling and he looked to be debating his next comment carefully. “I just mean, maybe heading this off will make it better in the long run?” 

Harry stared at the two of them. “What if they can’t do anything about it?” 

That wasn’t necessarily what he’d wanted to ask, but he didn’t think he could make himself say what truly worried him. 

He didn’t even like thinking about it. 

Ron’s voice echoed through his thoughts again, asking when Snape would get sick of him and toss him back to the Dursleys. 

He tried to shake the thought away, but failed. Nausea wracked through his stomach again and nearly had him turning to find a bucket, but it kindly stayed down. He wished he didn’t feel ill. 

Hermione slowly lowered a fold on the map. “That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t speak to them.” She said softly. “We can think of it like checking in. We check in today and we see how things work going forward? We’ll see what they feel about everything that’s happened. We can’t guess at what they’d say without asking, it’s not very fair to them.” She nodded as her voice strengthened. “It’s especially unfair given how we’ve treated their character in the past.” 

Ron hummed a sour, but agreeable note. 

“Let’s wait out their meeting and sneak down afterwards.” Hermione said. “I’m going to make sure the first year girls get to bed alright, Ron, do you want to—”

“Already handled.” Ron nodded. “They’ve got things in hand.” 

Hermione’s nose wrinkled but she neglected to say anything as she handed the map over to Harry and made for the girls dormitory.

Harry wished he was back in Germany again. He almost wished he was six as well, though he never wanted to feel that vulnerable again.

He closed his eyes and tried to picture their average day. 

It was easy to pretend having dinner back in Germany and Harry growing more tired by the minute after they’d relaxed into their armchairs. Once he was too tired to even be awake he’d go up to a bed with no burn marks and he’d sleep peacefully. 

His necklace hummed, slowly beating a warm patter against his chest. 

He wouldn’t have worried about any professors or Malfoy potentially tormenting him. He’d probably be planning his next morning. 

They passed the time with a nervous sort of energy. He and Ron checked the map several times before Hermione returned, each time finding Snape frozen next to Professor Sprout. Hermione checked it more than either of them and couldn’t seem to put the map down for more than five minutes. 

He’d escaped to the loo twice while they waited, though he never felt better afterwards. 

Harry wondered as he waited, if Umbridge would somehow learn about his wanting to sneak out and meet with Snape. It had him curious again about how she’d learned he wasn’t at Privet Drive for most of August. 

Ms Eileen’s voice hissed several questions in a row and interrogated his memory of the meeting. 

_‘Did she give anything away?’_ Her voice echoed in his ears. _‘What didn’t she say?’_

Umbridge had asked Harry if he lived with Aunt Petunia, but she hadn’t remembered her name directly. Harry supposed that wasn’t wildly unusual as Umbridge probably saw more than a thousand names a week, what with being a Senior Undersecretary. 

‘Petunia Dursley’ probably didn’t rank very highly in importance to her. 

There was something distinctly odd about her one-sided conversation, but Harry struggled to remember all of the specifics. He wasn’t as good at this as Ms Eileen and it felt as if his memories were clouded over with taffy-pink smoke. He began feeling even more uncomfortable when he tried to recall if he’d said anything during the meeting, but could only imagine pink ribbons being wrapped so tightly over his mouth that it impaired his ability to speak. 

He blinked sluggishly against the feeling and his arms and legs felt as if they’d turned to lead. Something else had happened, but he couldn’t guess at what. 

“They’ve finished.” Hermione said as her head whipped up. “I’ve been watching Umbridge as well and it looks as if she’s headed to her office. Do we want to wait until she’s in there or make a break for it now.” 

The Common Room hardly whispered around them now, nearly empty as it was. Dying embers threw a weak glow over the scarlet furniture and whoever else had managed to remain awake despite the late hour. Anyone left lingering was likely trying to make up summer work. They’d mostly dropped off though and were snoring into their arms. 

“Let’s wait.” Harry whispered quickly. 

He didn’t fancy running into Umbridge, not when he still couldn’t get the uncomfortable feeling of ribbon out of his mouth. 

Hermione nodded and stared back at the map. He almost warned her about behaving a bit obsessively, but he supposed he’d acted the same way when he wanted to know where someone was or where they were going. 

“Have you got your cloak? I worry about all three of us sneaking out. Maybe Harry should just go?” Hermione asked. 

“No way,” Ron said, his voice dropping after a third year snorted. “All or nothing. We were split up for most of August and I’m sick of not being in the loop.” He added. “We’ll just have to be careful.” 

Harry thought he caught the odd look Ron had given him earlier, though he couldn’t be sure. 

Hermione squinted and seemed to debate it, but nodded before climbing to her feet. “I don’t love the thought of us sneaking out on our first night. I thought with us being prefects and having Ruffles now, we’d try being more,” She paused and gestured silently at them all. “More well behaved.” 

“We are.” Ron said. “We’re about to get a bloody teacher to help us. This is the most well behaved we’ve ever been.” 

Harry grabbed his wand and pushed himself to his feet. Whatever left him feeling like lead had dissipated and he wondered if he’d just imagined it. Maybe it really was just food poisoning. 

“Maybe,” Harry started as worry began creeping in quickly. “Maybe I will just go alone? I don’t want Ruffles getting mad at you two.” 

Hermione’s eyes widened and she glanced nervously at Ron. 

“Are you sure?” She asked, turning back to Harry. “You will promise to bring up Umbridge, won’t you?” 

Harry shrugged, but felt more and more like just hiding in his bed. He didn’t want Snape thinking Harry couldn’t handle one night without him. Maybe he’d just bugger off to an empty classroom and hide there for a while before coming back and claiming that Snape was asleep?

“I’m coming, if just to be a distraction.” Ron said as he spun and tip-toed out of the portrait hole. Hermione folded the tails hanging off the map and searched it twice more before slipping out the door as well. “I can’t go to sleep anyway,” Ron’s voice echoed quietly through the corridor. “Seamus was being a prat earlier and I’m still angry with him.” 

Harry groaned inwardly as he followed after them.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it, please leave a comment below! They keep me afloat. 
> 
> I know I said weekly updates, but I had less HW due this week! ❤


	3. Chapter 3

  
  


Ron and Hermione’s soft footsteps echoed as they made their way through the quiet corridor. 

Harry skirted the bust of Hengist of Woodcroft and tried to keep up. He should have been delighted to be out in Hogwarts at night, as in the past, he’d loved sneaking about and discovering new passageways and rooms while most of the castle slept. Hogwarts had often seemed as excited to be explored as Harry was to explore it. He’d go so far as to say that the castle made escapes easier by lessening the chances of being caught, if snooping student’s paid close enough attention. 

Ron dashed through bright blocks of moonlight and whispered at Hermione and Harry to keep up. 

He wished he’d convinced them both to let him go alone. If he had, he could’ve been in an empty classroom right now, rather than chasing after his friends. He’d be sitting as still as possible and letting the cool, quiet space slow him down enough to rationalize Umbridge’s dreadful meeting. 

Harry’s stomach ached and he tried to shake off the slippery feeling of ribbons around his mouth. 

“Wait!” Hermione hissed as she paused and flipped over a fold on the map. “Filch is coming up the western staircase.” She added nervously. “Doesn’t he sleep!?” 

“We can cut around the Transfiguration classroom and take the passageway behind the tapestry.” Ron whispered just a hair too loud as he picked up speed. Harry cursed his own sluggishness as he chased after him. “I don’t think Ruffles will cover for us—”

His voice was cut off when he dashed around the corner and down the corridor. 

Harry’s heart clenched as he imagined what Snape would say when he found them out of bed after hours. He’d never failed to come down as hard as he could on Harry when he’d caught him before. Harry now understood why, given how his dad had snuck out more often than he stayed in. It wasn’t difficult to imagine James and Snape getting into midnight duels where Snape would be caught but James would somehow miraculously escape. 

What would Snape say when he saw them? What if he compared Harry to his dad again? 

What if he gave them detention and kicked Harry out? 

Harry very nearly turned tail, before Ron’s fingers snagged his collar and tugged him into a dark alcove. 

“Sorry.” He huffed in apology. He kept a firm hand on Harry’s shoulder, stopping him from tipping over as he wedged himself between Hermione and the brighter side of the alcove’s opening. 

Once he seemed to think it was safe, he gestured to Hermione who in turn pointed at the map. 

Harry squinted and spied Flitwick’s name making its way down a connected hallway. It rounded the corner and entered the corridor, nearing their hiding place. 

What would Snape say if he heard about Flitwick catching them after hours? He’d probably slam the door in Harry’s face if he ever tried to visit again. He might take back everything he’d said throughout the summer. Harry’d gone to great lengths to prove he wasn’t a bullying, strutting, rule breaking, prat, but wasn’t that exactly what he was doing at the moment? 

Well, maybe Harry wasn’t doing all of those things, but given that he was doing some of them, it wouldn’t be a stretch for Snape to lump them all together and compare him to his father.

The necklace beat a staccato into his chest. 

Harry knew their changed relationship depended on him being different from his father and if Harry turned out to be just like James, Snape would despise him. Harry couldn’t lose Snape. If he lost Snape, he’d probably wind up back at the Dursleys come next summer. He might end up fighting Dumbledore alone. He’d most definitely wind up fighting Voldemort alone. 

He’d need to handle the prophecy alone as well. 

Hermione’s hand slipped upwards before jabbing Harry in his eye. 

“Sorry!” She hissed as she inched backwards. “Flitwick’s gone.” Her wide eyes flashed over Harry’s face. “I saw Ruffles do it once when you weren’t responding.” 

Harry blinked as he rubbed his eye. “What did he do?” He asked while Ron led them out of the alcove. 

He spared a moment to worry over how long he hadn’t been able to hear them speaking, but he tried to tell himself that it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. He tried to guess when Snape jabbed him in the eye before as well. 

“This—” Hermione waved her finger upward, but seemed to struggle to find the right word. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I was worried—am,” She paused before continuing. “Am worried.” 

Ron took the map from her and carefully guided them down the remaining floors. They’d needed to double back around Mrs Norris once and twice past Peeves once they reached the second floor, but the poltergeist had thankfully been occupied with several stink-bombs. 

It was a miracle they’d made it to the dungeons at all. The icy air now cooled over their sweaty skin and almost held the appearance of smoke as it sank around the stone. 

Damp grass seemed to grow in the corner of Harry’s eyes. It climbed overtop broken tombstones and lingered just out of sight. He shuddered against the feeling and tried to remind himself that Hogwarts had no graveyards. 

A dank and moldy smell whispered from the entrance, seeming to boldly ignore that claim. After all, dead people roamed freely through Hogwarts.

“It’s smooth sailing from here down, unless we run into any Slytherin’s, that is.” Ron said. 

The doorway seemed to swallow the surrounding noise, as well as any light. Where their path had previously been lit by wide swathes of bright moonlight, it drifted into nothingness in the dark face of the dungeons.

“Let’s turn back.” Harry said, unsure if he could hear the soft snickers of Death Eaters, or if he was imagining it. He knew, logically, it had to be his imagination, as the only Death Eater in the castle was Snape and Snape wasn’t about to giggle at his fear, or tie him to a tombstone. Though, while he may not want to murder Harry, he might take back everything that’d changed between if he was under the impression that Harry hadn’t changed. 

Every new thought seemed to stack onto the next, humming through Harry’s body and making him numb with worry. 

“We’ve gotten this far,” Ron said, holding up the map. “And there’s no one about down there.” 

Harry shook his head and tried to swallow around his dry throat. He wasn’t sure if he could explain his fear to Ron and Hermione, nor was he sure if he even wanted to tell them. 

“If I was Ruffles, I would want to know if someone drugged my—my students.” Hermione said with a cough. “Especially if the offender was a co-worker.” 

Ron nodded. “I mean, imagine if she just started drugging everyone’s tea.” He said before concern started spreading across his face. “We’re going to have to check our food tomorrow morning.” He added. The sweaty flush darkened for a moment and he twisted and whispered to Hermione and Harry. “Bloody hell, if I were her, I’d probably drug Ruffles first. He’s got to be good at guessing poisons.” 

Harry forced away a panicked gasp and stole the map from Ron before checking Snape’s location. He knew they would’ve said something if Umbridge had left her office, but the thought of Snape coming across Umbridge and being unwittingly poisoned horrified him. He tried to remind himself that he still wasn’t sure if she was actually drugging people, as he had no proof of having been drugged. 

He might just be sick. The longer he went without being ill in the toilet seemed to be proving that to him. Although, that span of time seemed equal to how much he’d eaten. He’d been less sick now that there was nothing in his stomach. 

That hadn’t stopped the nausea from making him gag though. 

He wondered if they could just leave Snape a note. They could explain their worries about Umbridge without Harry having to admit his confusion over whether or not anything had happened and that would ensure Snape gave his food and interactions with their new defense professor a watchful eye. 

He couldn’t turn back now, not with Snape’s safety to worry about, but he desperately didn’t want for Snape to think of Harry as identical to his father. 

“Let’s go.” Hermione said with a firm nod before taking the map back. 

She slipped into the inky darkness without a second word and Ron followed her quickly. Harry took a moment to wonder when he’d stopped being the one to lead them into adventures before chasing after them.

Iron basket torches flared to life as they searched the winding hallways for Snape’s office. The dim light struggled against the oppressive darkness and hardly managed to brighten the space around them, to say nothing of the hallways. He didn’t fancy losing Ron and Hermione down here, though he supposed they’d find him quickly with the map. Harry stuck nearer to them in case as he internally composed the note. 

He could slip it beneath the door and then Snape couldn’t say Harry was out after hours. He’d have no way of knowing when the note arrived there, especially if Harry said he’d woken early to write it. Then he’d just need to find concrete proof of Umbridge’s actions. His memory of the interaction could’ve served if Harry’d paid better attention, but that was over and done with. 

He tossed a look around as he trailed Ron. Several narrow passageways spun off to his left and he was fairly sure the Slytherin Common Room was down the third crooked hallway. 

Snape’s office was before the Common Room, wasn’t it? 

He turned and stared back through the darkness. He belatedly realized they must’ve passed the hallway leading to his office and now were following the map directly to him. They were headed for his private chambers. 

“Wait!” He cried in a strangled voice. 

His heart thundered in his ears. Snape hadn’t given Harry permission to visit his private chambers. He’d said Harry could come to his office if he wanted or needed, but he’d never said anything about chambers. Harry had no way of knowing if this was appropriate or not, especially given that they were now at school and supposed to be discreet. Every hope he’d had of escaping this interaction died when he realized with utter surety that Snape would think he’d broken curfew and gallivanted through the castle without a second thought. 

He was James in the flesh. He’d been back at Hogwarts for less than 24 hours and he’d already gone and cemented the impression that he was above school rules. 

It was easy when he’d been six. Snape could see Harry as his own entity when he was in Germany and they played Gobstones or read, but at fifteen and back at Hogwarts, a place where he and Snape formed spectacularly bad impressions of each other, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that Snape might revert to tormenting him.

What if Snape thought Harry expected to get a free pass because of their new relationship? A pass that allowed Harry to abuse or break any school rule he liked, as though he was Malfoy?

Snape would be disgusted. 

Usually Harry wouldn’t have cared whether or not he was the most well behaved, but now that Snape’s impression of him was on the line, he was hard pressed to ignore it. 

To top it off, he still had no justifiable proof that Umbridge had done anything illegal. He couldn’t just give Snape an accusation, not against another professor. He knew how little his word had meant to Snape before August. 

He never stood a chance. 

Something soft brushed down his nose and he blinked through the gloom. A blurry, dark shape moved before him and he realized quickly that his glasses had disappeared at some point, though they were now set gently back onto his nose. 

“Clever bit of magic, this.” Snape said as he held the map up for Harry to see. 

He was still in his teaching robes. He didn’t look upset.

Harry blinked dumbly at him for a moment before turning toward the map. He couldn’t remember Snape having ever seen it in it’s full form before, as the last time Snape had been anywhere near it was in Harry’s third year and when pressed to reveal itself, it’d insulted him. Had he known it was a map then? He didn’t seem to have known before, though he supposed Snape was the sort to catch on quickly. He blinked several more times as Snape grasped his hand and gently tugged him from the dark hallway. 

Hermione circled around Snape and stuck close by, having apparently been present the entire time, though Harry hadn’t been able to see her. 

A sharp cramp bit into his stomach and he dreaded what had occurred in his panic. 

“It was Umbridge.” Hermione began as they were shuffled into Snape’s chambers. “Umbridge, you see. She’s done something, but I don’t know what and we’re very sorry, of course, very sorry, to disturb you so late at night, but we just weren’t sure about our next course of action, that is, I’m sure—”

“A moment, Miss Granger.” Snape said. 

Harry could hear the slight annoyance at Hermione's too quick explanation. 

He watched confusedly as he was led into a small sitting room, not unlike the one in Germany. He relaxed rather quickly when he saw one of Ms Eileen’s knit covers tossed over the back of a tufted black couch. 

Snape sat him in the corner of the couch and handed him the knit cover before disappearing down a side hallway. 

The three of them descended into an awkward silence, each as unsure as the last of what they should do. 

Hermione slid slowly onto the couch next to Harry and cast a curious look around as she clasped her knees. Her eyes landed on the crammed bookshelves several times, though they always drifted away distractedly. Harry could almost see her mentally devising questions.

_‘How do we safely accuse Umbridge? How do we avoid this happening a second time? Should we arrange a communication system?’_

Harry shook his head and tried to push her voice from his thoughts. He was sure they’d be on the receiving end of her thoughts when they returned to the Common Room. 

“Erm.” Ron mumbled. 

He fussed awkwardly with his sleeves and rocked back and forth on his heels. It looked as if he couldn’t decide if it was safe to look around Snape’s sitting room, so he chose instead to appear endlessly interested in the ceiling tiles. Harry vaguely remembered that neither Ron nor Hermione had been to Germany, or Spinner’s End and therefore hadn’t ever been around so many of Snape’s things. Although, Ron had been in Snape’s office enough times to recognize some of the mismatched bottles stuffed into the glass collections cabinets. 

Harry had seen the vials as well, though he now thought of it as the medicine cabinet in Ms Eileen’s house. 

“Never imagined we’d actually be in here, you know.” Ron said in a weak voice. “I sorta—” He coughed and his voice strengthened slightly. “Sorta imagined we’d have some, some meeting in the office.” 

“He wasn’t there.” Hermione whispered as she shook her head. “I didn’t know what else to do.” 

“We could’ve tried writing a note.” Harry said, silently berating himself for speaking at all. A note wouldn’t have solved anything and the dry look Hermione threw him told him she’d thought it was a stupid idea as well. 

Snape swept back into the room, this time with a collection of vials sitting in a small try. 

Harry eyed them and hoped his stomach wouldn’t interfere with anything they were meant to find. If he needed to drink them, that was. He wasn’t sure what any of them were either, despite the entire month he’d spent reading over potions catalogues and dusty tomes with Snape. Reading had been interesting enough at the time, though that was because Harry’d spent most of his time searching for increasingly ridiculous reactions to early iterations of brews and draughts. He wished he’d been paying more attention to the descriptors now that he faced a tray full of potions he couldn’t name. 

“From the beginning and with organized clarification.” Snape said with a dark look at Hermione as he sank onto a chair. 

Hermione’s mouth opened and her voice cracked as she seemed to struggle to find the beginning.

“I wasn’t actually there,” She finally said after a moment and with an apologetic look at Harry. “I didn’t see anything.” 

“Weasley?” Snape asked. 

Ron flinched at the sound of his name, but shook his head ‘no’ as well. 

Snape inhaled slowly before standing and heading toward a cluttered desk. He flicked his wand and summoned a scrap of parchment and ragged quill from the mess before giving Ron and Hermione an icy look. He scribbled something with a sharp movement and dried the ink with a wave of his wand. 

“Do not abuse this.” He said silkily before passing Hermione the note and sitting again. 

Ron looked as if his eyes were about to pop out of his head but he nodded. Hermione stood and looked twice at Harry, both times appearing to silently convey her hopes for him to be honest about what happened with Umbridge. 

Harry blinked dumbly back. He still wasn’t sure what had happened in the meeting, so he couldn’t be very dishonest about something he wasn’t sure about, could he? 

Hermione huffed and pushed Ron out the door. 

Snape fell backwards against his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. Despite all of Harry’s earlier worries, some more heart stopping than others which he didn’t fancy investigating at the moment, Snape didn’t seem angry. 

Harry’d almost say Snape didn’t even look upset. He tugged at his cover and arranged it over himself, all the while wishing he could borrow it. He didn’t love the thought of returning to his dorm and sleeping with the burnt blanket. He wanted to know what Ron would tell the other boys about Harry’s disappearance, as well as what had happened between Ron and Seamus earlier in the evening. 

“What did the pass say?” Harry asked after a moment. 

He wondered if Ron would mention it to Neville or Dean. 

“That the two of them had finished their prefect duties at a later hour than they’d anticipated.” Snape said. “It’s a standard pass given to students in leadership positions.” 

Ron probably wouldn’t mention it. 

“Merlin help them if they have any inclination toward abusing that privilege.”

Harry blanched as his earlier worries spun back to the forefront of his mind. 

“We didn’t—I didn’t mean to break curfew.” Harry said quickly. “I’m not ignoring the rules and I don’t think I’m above them. I thought if I might leave a note instead but—”

Snape stood and circled the coffee table before settling next to Harry and tugging him into a hug. 

Despite Harry’s growth in size, he consistently rediscovered that being hugged wasn’t radically different from when he’d been six. Snape’s long fingers slid over his back and slowly began pushing away the high strung tension thrumming through Harry. 

“You haven’t broken curfew, nor have your friends. Average rules apply, but if you fear a Professor has drugged you, then that isn’t average and you are allowed to break curfew. In fact I'd prefer you break curfew anytime you fear something illegal or dangerous has happened. I trust you’ll know when it’s inappropriate otherwise.” Snape said softly. “Your friends behaved exactly as prefects are meant to, though, for other students within their house they should inform Professor McGonagall.” He added before leaning back and tucking the blanket tighter around Harry. 

Harry wondered what had happened to stop him from being able to come to that conclusion himself. It made complete sense. He was well aware that normally, he wouldn’t have needed to have that explained to him, as it was rather like having someone explain how jumping in the lake led to getting wet. All the same, his earlier logic lingered in his ears, wondering how long Harry could get away with claiming he needed help before it became rule breaking and he became a degenerate delinquent. 

In the back of his mind he could distantly hear Snape’s voice mentioning Harry struggling to tell when he was allowed to ask for help. 

“I have a feeling that may take time to adjust to.” Snape said before summoning several scrolls of ragged parchment. “Regardless, I will always be thankful you’ve sought help.” 

Something tightened along Harry’s throat and though he was still nauseous, he couldn’t help but relax into the sofa and feel safe. 

“Now, try and explain what happened between you and Dolores Umbridge.” 

Harry nodded and rifled through his pocket. He found the note Colin had delivered and passed it over, thankful that the pungent perfume had yet to fade. He wasn’t sure why he wanted it to continue to smell, but it felt oddly as if that helped fortify Harry’s accusation.

Snape’s nose wrinkled as he read the thin writing. 

“When I got to her office, she made tea, I took a sip and then she asked me where I was for August.” Harry explained. “I didn’t answer or anything, I panicked. I don’t know how she could know. I don’t think Aunt Petunia ever mentioned the Ministry, but I couldn’t remember if you’d actually spoken with her after everything.” 

Snape’s eyes narrowed and he flicked his wand, summoning several vials from the medicine cabinet. 

“I didn’t speak directly with your aunt. What did Umbridge ask, exactly?” He asked. “Repeat verbatim if you can. Ministry employees are bound by specific laws and she’d be well aware of potential illegality in her behaviour.” He said before performing a series of tasks in quick succession. He drew a small amount of Harry’s blood into a vial and added a few drops into the collection of potions in the tray. 

Harry tried to think of the specifics, but he found himself much more interested in watching Snape work. He poured a murky green tincture over the note, but Harry found his curiosity dulling as the note dampened, but failed to change. He’d hoped for a more exciting reaction. 

He shook his head and tried to focus on Umbridge’s conversation. 

She’d asked Harry where he’d been, but she’d said she was asking because the Ministry took his safety seriously. She’d mentioned Aunt Petunia, but she hadn’t remembered her name. Had she asked if Harry lived with Aunt Petunia or had she just stated that he did in fact live with her?

“I don’t think I remember her exact words.” Harry said as he folded his fingers into the blanket. 

Snape flipped the note over and dabbed the tincture on that side as well. He explored a number of tests, some involving smelling, licking, and burning the note while Harry chased Umbridge’s voice in his thoughts. The more he guessed at her statements, the more unsure he became. He couldn’t decide anymore if she’d said Fudge was concerned or the Ministry was concerned, or if the difference was important at all. 

“I just remember her being,” He paused and tried to shove away a shudder at how uncomfortable she’d made him. “Awful. There were a lot of ribbons.” He added, rubbing at his mouth at the phantom whisper of ribbons over his lips. 

Snape paused and looked up as concern flashed across his eyes. “Try and relay the encounter, regardless.” He said before setting the note aside. “There are several methods we might use to search your memory, but we need to be cautious and careful about it. If she has drugged you, your memory might not show that. She may have altered your perception of events, thereby ruining the memory if it were ever brought up in court. That wouldn’t be unusual, the ministry has used that tactic before when they didn’t want to be caught. If Umbridge is clever she’d utilize several skills at once in order to achieve her goal.”

Ice shot through Harry as his stomach cramped and his mouth watered. He hadn’t imagined more than a few things happening at this meeting, it’d hardly lasted ten minutes. Trelawney had arrived too soon for Umbridge to have really done something, hadn’t she? Harry'd only had a sip of that perfumed tea as well, could a sip actually do so much damage? 

“It would be better if we knew her goal, though that could be any number of things.” 

He shoved his palm over his mouth and Snape’s wand swung upwards as he summoned a rubbish bin seconds before Harry sicked up. 

Harry kept his head firmly near the bin as the soft sounds of Snape’s movements whispered past him. A cool breeze drifted over his neck and through his fringe, helping to ease the uncomfortable sweating that broke out over him. He worried mildly about having spat up bile once more and promised to ask if that was a symptom of being drugged. 

He mentally struck that promise after remembering having been sick before meeting with Umbridge. 

When he finally felt safe enough to look up, Snape had a calming draught in his hand. 

“The absence of evidence is not definitive evidence of absence.” He said, handing the vial over. “We know the instance occurred. Your perception of it may be altered, but we have proof of an illicit meeting, however legitimate it may sound from the note.” Snape added as he held up the note once more. 

Harry rolled the vial between his fingers and smiled to himself at the vague memory of Snape warning him about going catatonic if he swallowed a full dose when he’d been six. 

He hadn’t given much thought to how memories of events worked, though he knew they weren’t always the most trustworthy things. He’d sworn up and down how he’d seen his father cast a patronus when Dementors descended on Sirius in his third year, only to find out it was actually himself who’d done the casting. So memories weren’t always reliable. Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about that thought when tied to Umbridge’s behaviour. He’d promised himself he’d be more careful around manipulators this term and he’d already been manipulated, less than a day in. 

Manipulated by Umbridge no less. Her yowling China cats and fluffy pink rugs should’ve given him some advanced warning, but he’d been too thick to notice it and run away. 

“The Ministry is well versed in covering its own tracks.” Snape added. “Much like Death Eaters, they’ll save their own necks first.” 

Harry nodded and swallowed down the contents of the vial. 

The anxiety tightening around his muscles released so suddenly that he dropped to the left and his last waking sight was of Snape blanching and shooting forward to catch him before he fell off of the couch.

  
  


——

  
  


Harry’s mouth was damp. 

He tried to breathe, but found it strangely difficult. It felt as if he’d taken a bludger to the chest but had somehow avoided incurring any pain. He didn’t like it and prepared himself to shout about it, but before he could, his chest began expanding and he slowly inhaled, whisking away the uncomfortable out of breath feeling. He didn’t much like this either, but he supposed forced breathing was better than being unable to breathe. 

He thought about sitting up to look around, but the pillow beneath him was too warm and comfortable for him to want to leave. Something began rumbling near his ear. Or maybe it rumbled near his face? He couldn’t guess where it was coming from and he felt a brief moment of panic until he realized it was Snape’s voice doing the rumbling. 

If Snape was present, he was likely alright. 

A different voice brushed over head, separating itself from the deeper one near Harry’s ear. Or face. He couldn’t place this second voice, nor could he fully tell it apart from Snape’s. It was softer, but it didn’t have the same ringing safety Snape’s voice had. 

He wasn’t sure why it mattered if this second person was here, as he was quite comfortable where he was and everything seemed to be in hand. 

Something smelling of lavender tickled along his nose and he thought of tipping off of the couch in Snape’s Chambers. It was fairly hilarious after the fact, that Harry was so nervous, he’d taken a bit of a calming draught and promptly tipped over. He laughed at the thought, or he tried to. It was especially difficult, given that he couldn’t very well force his lungs to do what he wanted when he wanted. He supposed it wasn’t awful though, he could wait his turn to laugh. 

Did people usually wait turns when it came to laughing? 

Long fingers carded through his hair and he realized with a bright feeling that he didn’t feel nauseous. He’d have thought he’d recognize not feeling ill sooner, but he guessed that if it wasn’t bothering him, it made sense for him not to bother with it. 

“ _Rennervate!”_ The softer voice said. 

A bright crimson light shot through Harry’s eyes and he jolted. 

Dumbledore’s wizened face leant away from Harry’s, giving him ample time to flinch away, for all the good that it would do. He couldn’t seem to move very far.

Snape’s large hand slid over his back, soothing the sudden fright. 

“Good evening, Harry.” Dumbledore said with what looked like a genuine smile. He didn’t seem to be planning to ship Harry back to the Dursleys that very second, but then, Harry’d never been good at guessing what Dumbledore was thinking. “You’re having a dreadful night, my boy. I’m very sorry for the mess.”

Harry huffed as he looked around for Snape and felt himself go numb after spotting the pillow he’d slept on and subsequently, Snape. 

The reason he hadn’t been able to tell where Snape’s voice had come from, was because he was pressed against Snape’s chest. It’d come from all around him. He’d been bundled in Ms Eileen’s knit cover and his school jumper, which hadn’t been shrunk to fit his now far smaller frame and was loose enough to be entirely too vulnerable for any meeting with Dumbledore. 

He wanted to go back to the foggy place and be blissfully unconscious. 

This was a nightmare. 

It couldn’t be real, it must’ve been a nightmare. 

“It is my understanding that we can fix this on a temporary level.” Dumbledore said with a carefully calming gesture. “I know you are upset, Harry.” 

“Upset!?” Harry shrieked. 

His mum’s necklace hummed to life. 

Upset scratched the surface of how he felt. Harry dearly wished to hurt Avery at that moment. He didn’t much care how he did it, he’d drown him in the lake or throw him from the high tower. If he could, he’d owl Charlie and ask him to bring back the Hungarian Horntail just to roast Avery alive. Harry couldn’t fathom being six years old again and at Hogwarts. He had bigger problems now, bigger problems like Ministry inquiries and women who looked like painted toads, Voldemort, Dumbledore himself, and Malfoy’s potential upcoming torment, which Harry could safely say was not going to be easy to ignore, given his current problem. A nearly imperceptible thought crept up the back of his mind, whispering that if Harry was six, Dudley was eleven. 

“Perhaps, Albus, you can refrain from guessing how others feel without asking first.” Snape said as he ran a comforting hand over Harry’s back again. 

Dumbledore folded his hands and nodded apologetically. “I’m sorry, Harry. Forgive me for assuming.” 

“No.” Harry snapped. 

“Harry,” Snape started softly as he tucked the knit cover tighter around Harry. Harry fell forwards before jerking back again as he realized with a humiliating curl that his mouth had been damp because he’d drooled over Snape’s shoulder. “This is only temporary. You were fifteen earlier today and you will be fifteen again soon.” 

Harry couldn’t see how that was possible, given that he’d woken up six again. 

“The important thing is that we’re aware of the issue.” Dumbledore said as he strolled past Snape’s bookshelves and toward the floo. “Both of the issues. I will take the matter with Dolores seriously and will be watching her carefully.” 

The urge to spit something about how pathetic Dumbledore’s usual careful watches were raged in Harry, though he ignored it with herculean effort. 

“Severus, do update me of any findings. I would stay and speak with you both, but I fear my presence will not facilitate a safe and calm environment. Good evening.” Dumbledore said before tossing a handful of floo powder in the fireplace and disappearing in a blaze of green fire. 

Harry wanted more than anything to scream or throw something at that moment. He couldn’t decide which one might make him feel better. Screaming was certainly easier, but he felt throwing something and watching it break would be more cathartic. The small practice snitch Harry’d chased after in his mum’s flat and Germany fluttered from Snape’s pocket, reminding him, however distantly, that anger was a way for Voldemort to sneak into Harry’s thoughts. He didn’t think Voldemort would want to sneak into his thoughts at this particular moment, especially given the righteously, furious mess they were, but he forced himself to take a deep breath and re-evaluate the situation. 

“This is temporary.” Snape said again, almost as if he were trying to convince himself more than Harry. “We have a method to bring you back to your correct age, it will just need to be administered routinely until a proper cure is brewed.” 

“What about Dudley.” Harry asked, forcing himself to breathe slowly. “Won’t he wake up being eleven?” He asked. “He’s at Smeltings, they won’t know what to do about him.” 

“Dumbledore is on his way to collect him. He’ll arrive before any muggles are made aware of your cousin’s condition.” Snape said with a quick look at his wristwatch. “He’ll have more time left at his appropriate age, given that he took the antidote several hours after you.” 

Snape scrunched his eyes shut and he shook his head, seemingly at himself. A curtain of dark hair brushed over Harry’s ears.

“I thought it was just food poisoning.” Harry said miserably. He disliked the way he’d calmed upon hearing Dudley would be alright. He’d have liked to be angry about it for a while longer, however childish that may be. “I thought I’d eaten something and just couldn’t keep anything down.” The thought of Dudley likely having the same symptoms as Harry didn’t help either. He wasn’t cruel enough to want to keep food from Dudley. Afterall, Harry could go a lot longer without eating than him. “I went to Madam Pomfrey and she thought it was just an upset stomach, she waved her wand and checked and everything.” Harry added with a mimicked wave of his own. 

“I’m glad you went to her, and that scan helps narrow down what might be occurring.” Snape said. “If her scan declared no obstructions then it may be your stomach having shrunk, closely followed by the surrounding organs.” He muttered beneath his breath before snatching the parchment and quill he’d been using previously and scratching out several bullet points. “Although, shrinking should’ve shown in a scan.”

Harry shoved his face into Snape’s shoulder, carefully avoiding the embarrassing damp patch.

“Will I be nauseous the entire time I’m fifteen then?” He asked. 

Snape paused in his scribbling and dropped a hand over Harry’s head, steadily helping to push away his burning anger. Something that sounded curiously like himself at fifteen whispered persistently about keeping calm in the face of his bitter anger. 

“There is a chance you might feel nauseous. You went two days without symptoms before this occurred, so the likelihood you’ll go two days again is high.” Snape said. “I have the antidote in my bag, though giving you it will be more akin to putting a plaster on a broken bone.” 

Harry wished he had broken a bone. It’d be loads easier to fix. 

“What now then?” He asked. 

“Right now, I feel it would be best if we extracted the memories of your meeting with Umbridge and placed them in a Pensieve.” 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it please leave a comment below! You guys are my delight to write for and I always hope you enjoy the work. ❤


	4. Chapter 4

Harry frowned at his shrunken top. He was glad Snape lent him pyjamas, as sleeping in a shrunken version of his school uniform would’ve been particularly uncomfortable, to say nothing of how he felt wandering around in it. It reminded him of the horrendous commemorative bears Dudley’d received after finishing the school year when he’d been younger. How Aunt Petunia always found the time to purchase and sew a miniature school uniform onto a stuffed animal, Harry would never know. 

He did know Dudley hadn’t cared about the bears, as they littered the bookshelves in what would become Harry’s room for years afterwards. 

“You were quite sick all evening, going by these memories.” Snape said as he dropped Harry’s silvery memory into a glass phial. 

Harry looked up and watched as the watery blue glow emanating from the Pensieve washed over Snape. He’d been quite nervous to show Snape the meeting, but after convincing himself of Snape’s inability to hear how unsure his thoughts had been at the time, he decided it would be alright. He had never heard anyone’s thoughts in the memory he’d accidentally fallen into last year, so he couldn’t imagine his own memories would be different. There were only two to speak of anyway. One featured Colin delivering the note and the other was of Harry and Umbridge. 

“You haven’t managed to keep anything down since after breakfast then?” 

Harry nodded and turned back to his top. “I had a few chocolates on the train, but the nausea came on around then.” 

“I suppose we should find you something to eat before you go to sleep, then.” Snape hummed and tucked Ms Eileen’s blanket tighter around Harry before hefting him off of the counter and onto his feet. Harry trailed lazily behind as they made their way through Snape’s chambers, in search of what Harry assumed would be the kitchen. He looked idly around, though nothing held his interest for longer than a moment. His usual curiosity dulled in the face of his too young age and Umbridge’s meeting.

“Why can’t I take the antidote now?” He asked as the question sizzled in the back of his mind. 

Snape had already explained the answer to this question once, but Harry couldn’t seem to let it go. The anger he’d felt earlier had mellowed, though it was replaced by a needling, irritating voice, begging again and again to ask until he received the antidote. A corner in his mind worried if he could truly whinge like this, as Aunt Petunia had crushed any urge to whinge before. 

“If you take the antidote tomorrow morning, you’ll be fifteen for longer than if you took it now. Prolonging the effects will allow you ample time to retake the antidote when you next require it.” Snape answered calmly. 

Harry huffed and fought the urge to ask again. 

“Well, what did you think of Umbridge’s meeting then?” He asked instead. Snape had to have noticed something peculiar from Harry’s meeting.

They came to a sparse kitchenette, similar to the one in his mum’s flat. Harry climbed atop a stool and wondered how often Snape spent time here, because from what he could see in the glass cabinets, it looked as if he only had a few mugs and the bare essentials. He supposed that made sense, as Snape took a lot of his meals in the Great Hall. 

“I have several thoughts, though I am unsure of what any of them could lead to.” Snape said. He turned quite suddenly and leant down, looking Harry firmly in the eye. “What I’m about to say is not a suggestion to invite yourself to tea with Umbridge, but without a sample of that tea, it’s unlikely I’ll be able to uncover its nature in a short amount of time. Your blood results will be useful. They may not yield much information though, given how quickly you expelled whatever may have been present. Contrarily, they may be quite useful, as some potions work from the moment they touch your lips.” Snape said with a quick flick of his wand. “What I find I am most alarmed by, is her phrasing.”

A banana sliced itself into pieces and dropped onto a plate, quickly followed by a small bowl of yoghurt and toast with cold cuts. A glass of water appeared and joined them seconds later. 

Harry tucked in quickly, finding himself far more hungry than he’d realized at the sight of food. 

“She stated that the Ministry ‘saw fit to check up on you’.” Snape said as he peeled a banana and ate as well. “As if the ministry had in fact checked on you. Tuney never mentioned it and if they had knocked on her door, we’d have known.” 

Harry swung his feet back and forth as he debated Aunt Petunia speaking with the Ministry. She wouldn’t have bothered with lying about Harry’s whereabouts to officials, or he didn’t think she would, not if it meant getting a chance to hurt Harry or Dumbledore somehow. Snape had made a deal with her though, one that kept her silence in exchange for the fake of Lily’s necklace. She wouldn’t have gone back on their deal afterwards, would she? 

He wasn’t sure if she’d actually found the necklace, he realized after a moment. He'd tossed it on the linoleum and ran without a second thought. 

He’d been trying to escape Dumbledore though and had more pressing concerns to worry about. 

“I’ll owl her and ask.” Snape said. “I’m not surprised she knew Tuney’s name, as the list of legal guardians is easily attainable for professors. I am left wondering who performed this welfare check and why you weren’t summoned with Tuney directly, if they had such good faith concerns.” 

“Maybe they didn’t want to make a scandal?” Harry asked. 

“Given your current defamation of character via the Daily Prophet, a scandal wouldn’t be unwelcome to them.” Snape said with a grimace. 

Harry frowned and picked at his toast. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been the subject of multiple, vicious Daily Prophet scandals, but he wished all the same they left him alone. Why anyone would be interested in his life was beyond him. They snooped and snitched on anything they could, despite Harry feeling as if he led a fairly uninteresting life. He could admit some of his experiences were newsworthy, but usually those weren’t the adventures reported on. 

Sirius’s innocence for one, Harry felt should’ve made the front page. As well as his and Cedric’s experience in the graveyard. Cedric deserved to have the truth of his death blasted into every news source available. 

He’d been violently murdered. 

If Harry’d been murdered, he’d want everyone alive to know who’d done it and how to best defend themselves if they were attacked. Cedric didn’t deserve to be sidelined as a ‘sorry accident’. There’d been nothing accidental about his murder. 

“Harry,” Snape’s soft voice broke through his thoughts. “I know yoghurt isn’t your favourite, but please try a few bites.” 

Harry blinked upwards and spotted Snape holding a spoon out to him. 

In truth, Harry rarely ate yoghurt. He hadn’t ever considered it to be something he either liked or disliked. 

“Let’s turn our attention to a related issue.” Snape added as Harry took the spoon. “You’re attending a Defense lesson tomorrow, if I’m not mistaken, and we need a plan to ensure you are safe before, during and afterwards.” 

Harry nodded. “I can stick close to Ron and Hermione and hopefully avoid attention?” 

“Umbridge will likely attempt to coerce you into staying behind after class, as she may not have completed her goals with the last meeting.” Snape said with a raised eyebrow. “Your friends may be roped in.” 

That stopped Harry cold. He despised the thought of Umbridge potentially drugging Ron and Hermione. They shouldn’t have to go through the same trapped, uncomfortable feeling Harry had experienced. 

He imagined the phantom ribbons slipping around Ron and Hermione and shuddered. 

“She may say any number of things to keep you after class. It may be a plea to assist her by collecting class materials or pass a note to another Professor. As it stands, she holds far more power over you than we can contend with currently.” Snape said. “Even if she retains you, we have no knowledge of her goals and therefore cannot begin to guess at what she will do afterwards.” 

Harry nodded. 

“What if you gave me a note, one that said I needed to do something directly after class?” 

“She will negate it if she finds her own needs more pressing and she _will_ find her needs more pressing.” Snape said.

“How’s that fair?” Harry asked, frustrated with the petty injustice. 

“It isn’t. She’s shown herself as someone willing to use any means necessary to achieve her goal though.” 

The Sorting Hat’s comments echoed in Harry’s ears. He supposed it made sense for Snape to be more skilled when handling the sort of ruthless person Umbridge was turning out to be, but Harry had these qualities as well, didn’t he? Why else would the hat have wanted to place him in Slytherin? 

“What should I do then? Skip class?” Harry asked with a shrug. 

“That wouldn’t be a good idea either, as she would have a reason to call you to another individual meeting.” Snape said as his eyes slipped upward and searched silently in thought. 

Harry dropped his head onto the counter and lamented his life. He had a feeling nothing would work and it looked more and more like he’d be sitting in on another horrible meeting sometime soon. At least this time he’d know better than to drink the tea. He felt very much like wallowing in pity at the moment and quite possibly crying about it. 

Snape carded a hand through his hair. 

“Your godfather addressed this issue rather succinctly, the last time we came to it.” He sighed. “I believe he said something to the effect of, ‘it is difficult to keep you safe, though that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try’.” Snape whispered before sweeping an arm beneath Harry and tugging him carefully up against chest. 

“It feels impossible.” Harry said in a small voice. He pushed his face into the fabric at Snape’s neck. 

They lingered in the kitchenette, letting the quiet space surround them. 

Every mess Harry’d gone through today seemed to compound on top of each other and sink into his bones, leaving him more exhausted by the second. He wished fervently to return to Germany again, though he realized he couldn’t continue wishing to escape back there at every ounce of trouble. That mindset wouldn’t help him find solutions. If anything, it might hide solutions by holding him in more pleasant memories, rather than pushing him to solve the problem. 

He desperately wanted the problem with Umbridge to disappear on its own though. 

Why had the Ministry chosen to intervene now? Why hadn’t they checked on him in the ten years before he’d received his Hogwarts letter?

The necklace warmed, though it didn’t help. 

Harry scoffed internally and answered his own question in a bitter voice. His childhood had not been worth Ministry intervention because Harry wasn’t a problem at the time. Now that he was a problem, and a loud one at that, they’d found the time to check in on him. It made for a ridiculous double standard.

He had the sudden urge to scream at Umbridge or threaten to tie her to a tombstone. She wouldn’t be denying his story if she’d experienced even half of it. 

He only sank further into Snape at that thought and tried to tell himself she wasn’t worth this level of anger. He didn’t like Umbridge, but no one should have to go through what Harry had last spring.

A cold voice argued at the back of his mind, whispering contrarily. 

She had trapped him in a false meeting. That was obvious, even more so with the unpleasant feeling of ribbons slipping persistently over his lips. She deserved to pay for that, didn’t she? 

Harry shook his accusations off and forcibly reminded himself that, aside from potentially drugging him, something they still had no proof of, all she’d really done was sit him down for an incredibly uncomfortable meeting.

If he’d suffered any dangerous after effects, they hadn’t appeared. Harry assumed after effects were the sort of thing to appear quite quickly as well and he was sure he’d been largely fine. He seemed fine at least. 

“Even if it feels impossible, it may not actually be so. You’ve performed several previously entitled impossible feats.” Snape said softly. “Thereby proving that the impossible, is not always so.” His hand curled over the back of Harry’s head. “I believe a convenient distraction will be useful enough for our immediate needs, in this case.” He gently nudged Harry from his hiding place. “You may thank the elder two Weasley’s, for their synonymous relation to the word ‘difficult’.” He added, pulling a small purple fire-cracker from his pocket. 

Harry blinked dumbly at it before swinging his head to look up at Snape. 

“You’re giving me permission to throw a fire-cracker?” He asked in shock. 

“I’m allowing you to return it to the elder two Weasley’s.” Snape said. “You’ve already been targeted and don’t need a second investigation. Instruct them to throw it just before the bell rings and to aim for a window in the hallway near the Defense classroom.” 

Harry shook his head as the urge to laugh bubbled in him. 

“I thought you hated this sort of thing!” 

“During a potion’s lesson, yes,” Snape said as his eyes darkened warningly causing Harry to quickly swallow his laughter. “It can cause cauldrons to explode and dangerous fumes to erupt, fumes which will corrode anything they come in contact with.” He said. “Whether that is the precious throats of those present or the expensive ingredients they’re using, it destroys indiscriminately.

“I—I haven’t—” 

“I’m not in a position to be punishing previously dangerous behaviour. If it happens again, there will be consequences.” Snape said silkily. “However,” He held up the fire-cracker again. “In a hallway with no potentially reactive substances, aside from your dim-witted classmates, this is not deadly. It serves to both distance you and allow the perpetrators to slip into the crowd that will no doubt be summoned by the sound. You in turn, must flee the instant the fire-cracker goes off. Umbridge may attempt to retain you regardless, and you mustn’t let her.” 

Harry supposed he could see the logic in this idea, though he also wondered if it was more in line with Sirius’s style of thinking rather than Snape’s. 

There was something inherently childish about tossing fire-crackers as a distraction, but Harry guessed that only helped strengthen their argument. No one would track it back to Snape and none of the students within Umbridge’s classroom could be accused.

“You stole this from Fred and George?” Harry asked as he took it from Snape. 

“I confiscated it from them this afternoon.” Snape replied. “Along with several other contraband items. You’d think they’d never experienced a raid on their person with how they carried on.” He added before taking Harry down a hallway. 

Harry took a brief moment to silently apologize to Fred and George for Snape’s raid, but realized they’d already exacted their revenge by giving Snape his nickname. 

He couldn’t take ‘Ruffles’ from them now. 

“What if they don’t want to throw it? What if they do throw it and get in trouble?” 

“I’ll request their services for any potential detention. Umbridge will likely grant it.” 

“Why?” Harry asked as they came to a small bedroom. “Why don’t you just come and distract Umbridge? Or Dumbledore, since he knows about it.” 

He recognized Snape’s dressing gown as well as the stack of books he often kept by his bedside. His bedroom was a fair bit neater than the sitting room, but seemed less lived in. Harry wondered if house elves cleaned private chambers or if professors thought of that as an invasion of privacy? 

“Umbridge believes I will be a great source of assistance in the future and I, in turn, aspire to be so.” Snape said with a sneer before slowly setting Harry on the bed. “I would rather she think of me as useful, as that may encourage her to listen when I speak.” He added quickly at Harry’s shock. 

Harry shook his head on principle. He didn’t enjoy the thought of Umbridge liking Snape’s company. 

“I cannot distract her without raising her suspicions. Should I appear at the end of your first class and request you, she may surmise that I have been informed of her actions, specifically as the Professor who would most likely be able to identify what potions she used. Equally so with Dumbledore. We don’t have much room to maneuver against the Ministry at the moment. With evidence, we will have something substantial.” 

Harry huffed and threw himself into the pillow. 

The urge to cry hit him again when he realized his word wouldn’t be taken seriously on the basis of his recent ‘lies’ about Voldemort. He just couldn’t avoid being deemed a liar, could he?

“These problems, while important, are not world ending. They will be here in the morning, as will you. Now, help me clear my mind.” Snape whispered and pulled Ms Eileen’s knit up around Harry’s shoulders. The urge to complain and remind Snape of how much better he was at Occlumency than Harry was washed over him, but he inhaled slowly and forced himself to relax. 

This had been routine in Germany and it was easy for Harry to fall into the steps.

“You have to lay down first.” Harry grumbled from where he’d shoved his face into the pillow. “And then shut your eyes, it doesn’t work unless you’ve done those.” 

Snape hummed. “Yes, and then?” 

“Picture yourself flying,” Harry said as he imagined himself on his firebolt almost against his will. “Through calm skies. Nothing else should matter.” He added. He could feel himself sinking into the mattress. He hadn’t ever considered falling asleep in the dungeon’s before, but he found it wasn’t so different from the tower. 

There were no stars to see, but it felt safe and warm, in spite of its location. 

  
  


——

  
  


“Harry!” Hermione’s voice echoed excitedly as she hurried closer to where he sat. A dreadful looking Ron followed behind at a far more sleepy pace. 

The Great Hall bustled happily, if quietly around them. Only the truly early risers were awake yet, which normally wouldn’t have included Harry, or Ron for that matter, but Snape hadn’t wanted Harry caught wandering the dungeons by any roaming Slytherins. He woken, been returned to his proper age and sent to the Great Hall in a prompt way that reminded Harry almost of how Aunt Petunia used to prepare Dudley for primary school when they’d been younger. 

“There you are,” Hermione said with a smile before sitting and tugging Ron into a seat next to her and throwing up the privacy spell they’d learnt. “We were so worried, Ron and I. What happened after we left last night? Ron says you never made it back to the dormitory. I checked all over for you this morning as well, which may have alarmed Neville, though I did apologize.” She said very quickly. “Do you have time to visit the library before class? I wanted the three of us to check out some books after we had a bit of breakfast, so we’re well informed of any unpleasant reactions from Umbridge’s tea.” She said, miming for Harry to pass her some milk. “Of course, without anything to go off of it’ll be rather like a needle and haystack I presume, but at least it’s something.” 

Harry smiled and passed her the cream. Several yawning Ravenclaws filed in and gave them a wide berth and a dirty look. 

“Sure,” He said as he leant over a tepid mug of tea. “You don’t have any idea of what you’re looking for?” 

“Well, I had thought to ask Ruffles, seeing as it's their area of expertise, but I hadn’t composed a list at the time and I know how they hate disorganized questioning. I have one now though, if you think they’re available.” She said, looking longingly at the doorway before turning back to Harry. “Speaking of, did you find anything out last night?” 

Harry nodded and grimaced. Hermione grimaced sympathetically and Ron slumped forwards with a groan. 

“The antidote I took over the summer failed.” Harry whispered, feeling he wanted to get that over and done with quickly. 

Hermione coughed around her coffee and waved at her burnt tongue. 

“Merlin’s balls.” Ron moaned as his head hit the table. “What’s that make it then, three things to watch out for? Four? We’re gonna need a bloody list before the day is out.” 

“But you’re alright now, aren’t you?” Hermione asked as her eyes flashed over Harry’s face. 

“I’m fine, just frustrated.” Harry said, waving off her concerned look. “Dumbledore knows as well, though he said it had a temporary fix. That’s what all the nausea was.” He added before pulling the fire-cracker from his pocket. Ron perked up at the sight and looked curiously at Harry. “And I showed Ruffles the memory, but they weren’t sure of anything concrete that happened. They’re looking into it.” 

“So, what’s that got to do with the fire-cracker?” Ron asked. “Are we celebrating something good having happened?”

Harry shook his head ‘no’. “Ruffles said we’d need a distraction before the end of Defense in case she tries to keep me after class. They said to give it to Fred and George and ask them to throw it at a window just as the bell rings.” 

“Wicked.” Ron said before snatching it up. 

“Is that,” Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. “Is that wise?”

“Don’t second guess the man Hermione, he knows what he’s on about.” Ron said as he pocketed the fire-cracker. “I’m on it, aim it at a window you say?” 

Harry nodded. 

“But they said Fred and George should be the ones to do it, probably on account of you being in the classroom with me.” 

Ron frowned, but nodded and turned toward a pile of pancakes. 

“Do you suppose we should begin investigating now, rather than later?” Hermione asked with a worried look. “Seeing as we have a few more pressing things that have been added to our growing list of concerns for this term?” 

“You—” Ron paused around a mouthful. “You said we could eat breakfast first.” 

“Well yes, but,” Hermione glanced at Harry before her shoulders dropped and she grabbed a bowl of oatmeal. “I guess you’re right. We should eat first.” 

Owls soared in overhead and dropped packages and bundled newspapers to students throughout the Great Hall. Hermione tossed a look at them, seeming to wait for her own copy of the Daily Prophet, though Harry dearly wished she’d end her subscription. He didn’t want to see whatever they saw fit to print for the day, as it only stressed him out. He didn’t even like the news near him, as he knew he’d end up peeking over to read what was written. 

He supposed Hermione liked to keep Rita Skeeter on her toes though. 

A fluffy grey owl with a wrapped package clutched in its claws, sailed toward them and dropped a box just beneath Harry’s nose as a larger barn owl threw the Prophet at Hermione. 

He watched Hermione quickly set to work untying the news and shaking it out before turning and staring dumbly at the package before him. 

Harry realized with a sudden jerk that he’d yet to write Sirius about everything that’d happened. He didn’t think Snape would have written Sirius, nor did he think Aunt Petunia would have received Snape’s owl or mailed anything to Harry in the short time that occurred between yesterday and this morning. He untied the butchers paper with nervous fingers and found a small box with mini treacle tarts stacked one on top of the other inside. A note accompanied it, which Harry snatched quickly. 

_H,_

_The first day back can be tough. Things might look a little sweeter with these._

_The unofficial Gobstones Champion of 1995._

Harry stared at the note as a warmed feeling stole through him. He wondered if Snape had owled Ms Eileen and explained what’d happened, but he didn’t know how she could’ve prepared this in the time it would’ve taken for Snape’s owl to arrive and her’s to depart. 

To say nothing of the late hour everything had happened at. 

“Who are these from?” Hermione asked after lowering the paper and blinking curiously at the tarts. “I hope not some admirer, I worry about people sending you—”

“They’re from Ms Eileen.” Harry answered softly. 

Hermione paused before brightening. “That’s lovely of her, I wonder if she’s made them herself?” 

Harry shrugged and plucked one out. “She didn’t say, do you want to share one with me?” 

The three of them cut into the tart and slowly made their way through the rest of breakfast. Despite Hermione’s persistent urging, they hadn’t managed to make it to the library before their first lesson began. McGonagall came around with their schedules and hummed ‘good mornings’ up and down the long tables. 

She gave a rare smile to Hermione, though Harry wasn’t sure why that was until he saw her crammed timetable. 

They collected their bags and made for where Fred and George lolled near the far end of the Great Hall. The two groused a ‘hello’ as Harry quickly relayed the instructions Snape had asked of them, to which Harry was at once both shocked but unsurprised to discover how seriously they took their appointed task. They looked delighted at the prospect of detention with Snape in the event it occurred, though Harry half worried their excitement was directly related to how much they could torment him with his new nickname. 

He almost asked them not to tease Snape too much, as he wasn’t sure how much Snape would put up with for Harry’s sake. 

Harry loved Fred and George and it wasn’t a stretch for him to easily accept their joking nature. Snape had never mentioned having any fondness toward them though, unlike Dumbledore, who’d previously alluded to having a soft spot for their antics. 

This line of thinking only led to confusion over Dumbledore’s true alliances though and Harry had more immediate worries to think on. 

They navigated the castle and attended their early morning classes, splitting with Hermione whenever her electives required. Harry and Ron were distraught to discover that their usual pastime of exploring the castle or visiting Hagrid on their downtime was quickly nipped in the bud by the steadily amassing amount of homework. They nearly managed to make a break for the Quidditch Pitch, but Flitwick spotted them and questioned their upcoming essay topics just before Trelawney remarked about dream journals coming due and they realized, with a horrible feeling, that their fifth year at Hogwarts was going to be far more involved than their previous years.

It wasn’t until they met back with Hermione that they’d found the time to discuss Umbridge once more. 

“I really wish you would’ve let me throw the fire-cracker.” Ron said as they made their way toward the Defense classroom. He shouldered through waves of rushing students and cut a narrow path for Hermione and Harry to trail. “It’s unfair, that is. Teacher sanctioned misbehaviour and I’m not allowed in. That could’ve been a bloody dream come true.”

“It isn’t unfair. I think it’s much safer for you to avoid the trouble.” Hermione reasoned. “I’m not sure we should be encouraging Fred and George to get involved either.” 

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Ron said. “We’re only a day in and look at what Umbridge has already accomplished. I reckon she deserves to have a bit of trouble and I want to cause her some.” 

Hermione shook her head as Harry nodded a silent agreement with Ron. He didn’t fancy landing a second meeting with Umbridge in the event he was caught, but a quiet voice asked if it might be useful to their investigation. Snape had told Harry quite specifically not to invite himself to tea, but the opportunity to collect whatever she might’ve used to drug him was almost too good to pass up. 

He didn’t want to directly disobey Snape though. He needed to remember Snape’s good opinion of Harry was on the line in any potentially troublesome situation, so Harry would endeavor to be as well behaved as he could. 

They turned right and entered the Defense classroom and Harry almost did a double take at the state of the room. While there were no taffy-pink ribbons or fluffy rugs to be seen, it somehow managed to shout that Umbridge had been and gone and taken absolute control of the classroom. The walls lay bare around them and the desks sat in rigid, impossibly neat rows, each looking picture perfect and as if they’d just been built. Only the ornate desk at the head of the classroom and on a short platform, held any signs of life, though Harry couldn’t tell what all she’d displayed.

He clearly spied two neat stacks of the textbook they’d been assigned. Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard, an author who Hermione had railed against on the train ride yesterday. 

He swallowed heavily and made his way toward one of the perfect rows of desks. 

It wasn’t that all of Hogwarts’s desks were damaged or shabby, but there had always been an element of who had come before carved into the worn wood. Old signatures or burn marks peppered the desks, as had hearts with the initials of students in love, or scratched out lists of nasty insults. Harry’d searched religiously for signs of James and Sirius in many of the desks he’d sat in. He’d even searched for Lily, though he doubted she’d have defaced furniture. 

Ron’s favourite desk had been one with several exam answers carved into the frame, though if Harry remembered rightly, the false Mad-Eye Moody blasted those off just before they’d sat an exam. 

“You don’t suppose she’ll tailor the classroom to what she’s teaching, do you?” Hermione whispered. “I’m just—there’s hardly anything in here. We’re in the right classroom, right?” She rifled through her book bag and drew out her schedule to make sure. 

Ron didn’t bother checking, he pointed toward the stack of books on the desk with raised eyebrows. 

Their initial reactions were echoed by most everyone else who entered, though some of them managed to keep their confusion quiet. Whispers broke out and guesses were made about what sort of person Umbridge would be. A sense of dread washed over Harry as the school bell rang and the door behind them slid shut. Despite no evidence of anything having happened at the meeting he’d attended yesterday evening, he wasn’t keen to be trapped in another room with Umbridge.

He wondered if the classroom door locked. 

Umbridge appeared shortly after from a small connected doorway and gave a small smile to the whispering class.  
  


  
She wore the same fluffy pink cardigan as she had the evening before. Harry almost felt nauseous at the sight. He wondered what she thought of him and what she’d taken away from their meeting. She hadn’t tried to keep Harry after he’d been sick in her office and Harry now wondered if that meant she’d somehow succeeded with what she’d tried to do. 

“Hem hem.” Umbridge coughed, seeming to expect the class to silence their hissed conversations, though that was unlikely. She didn’t have the same sternness McGonagall carried herself with, nor the terror Snape instilled. She folded her hands around her stubby wand and stepped neatly toward the black board. “Hem hem.” She coughed again. 

This time the whispers faded, though Harry couldn’t guess if it was out of curiosity or annoyance.

“I must say, it is quite pleasant you’re all so prompt. I have found myself more and more delighted at this student body’s etiquette today.” She said as she tapped the board with her wand and made several bullet points appear. “We shall address some of our course aims for this next term today as well as begin our lesson, but I would be remiss if I didn’t introduce myself first.” 

Ron tossed Harry a miserable look as Umbridge strolled around to the front of her desk and gave them the same small smile she had when she entered. Harry wondered uncomfortably if she had pins in her cheeks that held the expression in place, as it looked at once both highly forced but as if it was constantly present. 

He couldn’t guess why she’d want to have that look on her face all the time. It didn’t seem to offer any comfort to those around her. 

“I am Dolores Umbridge, the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic and your new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. You may call my Professor Umbridge. I have walked the same halls as you, when I was a student. I experienced both an enjoyable and very orderly education and am delighted to be a shining example of what a well rounded individual can achieve, when they are properly educated and safely monitored.” 

She waved her wand in a short, aborted movement and sent the textbooks sailing from her desk. 

“I want to stress this aspect of safety, as I am aware that your education in this subject has been, shall we say, tumultuous?” She asked and stepped nearer to them as she made her way down the middle aisle. 

Harry watched the book as it landed on his desk. It didn’t look dangerous, nor did it look very inviting though. It reminded him of the cheap catalogues he’d seen in Diagon Alley. The ones professing to teach readers with no previous experience, how to become dueling champions in a short 30 to 40 pages. 

This one looked no different, though it had a smiling wizard on the cover who appeared to be deeply embroiled in his reading. 

“Now, who would like to read our first course aim written on the board?” She asked. 

Most of Harry’s classmates stared blankly, as if they wondered if she truly wanted them to parrot the bullet points, but Umbridge only asked again. 

“Come now, someone amongst you should have a bit of courage to speak up on your first day.” 

Hermione’s hand slipped into the air. 

“Ah,” Umbridge gave her the small smile. “And you are, dear?” 

“Hermione Granger, Professor. I have a question actually, if you don’t mind—”

“We’re reading from our course aims at the moment Miss Granger, you will have time to ask questions later. Now, since you so kindly raised your hand, why don’t you read our first goal here.” 

Ron’s eyes met Harry’s again. 

Hermione’s jaw clicked audibly, but she put her nose in the air and said in a clear voice. “Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.” 

“Well done, Miss Granger, I think that display of courage is worth five points to Gryffindor, don’t you.” 

Hermione coloured in embarrassment and Harry felt a distinct urge to defend her. If he thought she’d appreciate it, he likely would have. 

By the look Ron gave her, he’d thought of that well. 

“Now, why don’t you describe to me what you think these principles might be.” Umbridge said as her pink heels cracked across the floor and she made her way toward the desk once more. 

“According to Mr Slinkhard?” Hermione asked. 

“Why, who else would we concern ourselves with?” Umbridge asked. She climbed the small step onto the platform and stood over them before giving Hermione an expectant look. 

Hermione inhaled deeply and looked to have compartmentalized several things at once. “According to Slinkhard, there’s never an instance when one should be forced to enact potential harm on another when an Auror can be summoned.” 

“Well done Miss Granger, now—”

“Wait, does this mean we won’t be practicing defensive spells?” Dean asked suddenly. “Is this a law class, or a defense class?”

Professor Umbridge turned toward Dean and gave him a sweet look. “Please raise your hand when you’d like to speak and don’t forget to give me your name, we will be studying defensive magic this term, never fear—” 

“But will we be practicing it?” Lavender asked with a suspicious look. 

Her eyes flashed to meet Parvati’s and they shared a look of horror. 

“We have O.W.L’s at the end of the school year! Not everyone here can get it all from the book!” Parvati hissed with a sour look at Hermione. 

“Hem hem.” Umbridge coughed and pulled the class attention back to her. “Now, I do not answer questions without raised hands. I thought this year had better manners, but I am finding myself very disappointed in you. You girls, your names?” 

“Brown and Patil.” Lavender groused as she pointed toward herself and Parvati as she said their last names. 

“Well, Misses Brown and Patil, we will be studying defense. This wouldn’t be much of a class without that all important word, would it?” Umbridge asked. “Now, who would like to read our second course aim?” 

“I disagree with your first aim, Professor.” Hermione said with a determined look.

“You disagree with Mr Slinkhard’s foundational principles?” Umbridge asked as her eyes flashed toward Hermione and a small glint of steel seemed to appear behind them. “You disagree with summoning an Auror when someone has committed a crime? 

“I didn’t say that.” Hermione said. “Rather, I meant that there are plenty of Aurors who are unable to be obtained at a reasonable time—”

“Have you ever summoned an Auror, Miss Granger?” Umbridge asked with a determined sweetness. “They have an unparalleled arrival time. In fact, the Ministry keeps a tight standard of—”

“Yes I have, Professor.” Hermione said firmly, speaking over Umbridge. “I have summoned Aurors before, unfortunately the one I summoned happened to be a De—”

Umbridge laughed a clear, sharp note, silencing Hermione. Harry didn’t need to hear her thoughts to know Hermione was discussing the false Mad-Eye Moody, or Barty Crouch Jr. He wasn’t sure when Hermione had attempted to get him, but he was all the more worried about what had happened with it now. 

“You must be referring to the mix up that occurred last term, dear girl.” 

“Mix up? I don’t think there was a mix up,” Ron said with a dark look. “Professor.” He added belatedly. 

Umbridge’s eyes flashed toward him. “And you are?” 

“Weasley.” Ron said as he stuffed his clenched fists into his pockets. His ears burned a bright red and his back went rigid the longer Umbridge cast her small smile to him. 

“Well Mr Weasley, do you think you’re more informed than a Ministry official?” She asked. “Do you have official credentials? Do you receive official updates?” 

“I don’t need an official update to know a De—”

“Ah, but you do.” Umbridge said as she swept nearer to Ron and leant over his desk. “If you don’t know all of the facts—”

“Ask me then,” Harry snapped. “I’m pretty well aware of all of the facts.” 

His heart dropped out as his mouth ran ahead of him. The necklace flared to life and felt nearly as if it could burn a hole through Harry’s uniform. He wasn’t meant to make waves in this class. Snape had made that fairly obvious by all of their planning the night before and Harry’d gone and ruined it in a split second with his mouth. 

“Ah, Mr Potter, I do believe we have discussed this, haven’t we?” Umbridge asked. “You informed me quite clearly, though I can’t remember how you phrased it, help me out, dear. From what you told me, there’s nothing to fear.” 

Exhaustion blanketed over Harry’s body, coming out of nowhere. The ribbons he’d felt before slipped over his jaw and fought to push past his lips. They rushed over his skin, steadily growing hotter and moving quicker the longer he kept his mouth shut. 

“I just—” He whispered as the classroom went hazy for a brief second. He tried to deny what she said and shake his head ‘no’, but his head lolled on his shoulders. 

Hermione’s eyes widened and she looked terrifiedly between Harry and Umbridge. 

“I—”

“Yes, dear?” Umbridge asked from atop the platform. 

Harry rocked forward and finally managed to shake his head ‘no’ as sweat ran down his neck. 

“Oh come now, no need to be shy.” Umbridge said as she turned her horrible small smile on him. “Do tell the class.” 

“I shouldn’t have spoken out, I just haven’t, haven’t f-found—”

Harry’s jaw was forced open and the ribbons careened inside. They slid into every available space and Harry worried he wouldn’t be able to breathe if he didn’t get them out. He knew innately what he needed to say in order to be able to breathe again, though he didn’t know how he knew that and he tried to swallow the words down instead. He pushed himself to pass out before he said another word, but the longer he waited, the more he realized the ribbons let up every few seconds, allowing in a small amount of air to ensure he wouldn’t faint. 

“I just haven’t found my feet.” He croaked. 

Umbridge gave a joyous wiggle and giggled. “You see?” She asked the class. “There is nothing to fear and no facts to worry about, because nothing happened last term.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading such a long chapter!! I hope you enjoyed it and if you did, please leave a comment below. I love to hear your thoughts. ❤


	5. Chapter 5

Horror flooded Harry as the classroom shrank in on him. 

His heart hammered in his chest and he inhaled greedily, though he despised every desperate breath. The ribbons receded from his throat and mouth in slow, slippery movements until they hardly brushed his skin at all. The last he felt of them was a soft sweep over his jaw and then they drifted away entirely. 

“Now, these distractions can’t be allowed to come in the way of our lesson. Who would like to read the second course aim?” Umbridge asked. 

Her voice faded into murky sounds until Harry could no longer hear anything beyond a blurred murmur. 

The oppressive buzzing he’d experienced before in Umbridge’s office seemed to swing into full force. The sound rattled over his skull and Harry wasn’t sure if this was Umbridge’s doing as well, or if he was actually mad and losing it. He’d have to be mad to have given into what Umbridge wanted. 

He’d never given in like that before, certainly not of his own free will. He’d gotten himself into trouble with Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, or any awful person who felt they could force Harry into saying or doing something and no matter how many times they’d threatened him or done exactly as they’d threatened to, Harry’d never given in. He hadn’t given in even when subjected to the Imperious curse, despite the curses controlling nature. 

He’d never given in. 

Sweat dripped down his back and soaked uncomfortably into his button down. His head still rolled over his shoulders, though the exhaustion blanketing through him seemed to be letting up. 

A thought split in two in his head, diverging in one direction and whispering angrily about Cedric’s murder and the callous, cruel cover up Umbridge was engaging in, while the other remained entrenched in Harry’s bitterness and hissed about his treatment at Umbridge’s hands. Harry struggled to give his full attention to either of them, as they warred in his ears and argued about their shared injustice. 

At once, both opinions swung back and collided in a tangled web of confusing, righteous and selfish complaints. 

Cedric’s death was being side-lined again, despite Harry’s desperation that his murder be announced and action be taken. His own hopes were being thrown aside again as well, as Umbridge seemed far more concerned with Harry’s loud pleas than any action by the government. That shouldn’t have come as such a shock, no matter how disgusted Harry felt about it. He knew intimately how incompetent the Ministry was, given their behaviour in the last few years surrounding the opening of the Chamber of Secrets and it’s bloody history, Sirius’s escape and innocence and Harry’s involvement in a deadly tournament, followed by his and Cedric’s kidnapping. 

The statute of underage wizardry should’ve alerted the Ministry to Harry’s whereabouts that night in the graveyard, shouldn’t it? Harry had clearly been off school grounds and performed magic, so why hadn’t anyone come leaping to his rescue? He’d illegally performed magic in a muggle graveyard. The last time he’d illegally performed magic in a muggle area, he’d received a howler shortly after the fact. 

Voldemort had attempted to murder him as well, which should’ve been taken seriously. 

If they had any inclination to help him, they’d have taken his memories, given him Veritaserum, or inspected Cedric’s own body to help corroborate Harry’s story. Instead, they’d cried foul and hidden within self-imposed blindness, hoping against hope that Harry’d been wrong. When Harry’s ridiculous fame led to his story’s presence and they couldn’t afford to ignore it, they’d responded with Umbridge. 

_‘She succeeded in silencing the truth, no matter what her goal had been,’_ Hissed the bitter voice. _‘She spun a web and ensnared the one person loud and stupid enough to fall into it.’_

Harry no longer worried about her keeping him after class. If she did, it would likely be to gloat and he’d sooner fall over and suffer through the choking ribbons than speak to her again. In fact, he’d prefer to choke to death, rather than endure her nastiness for a moment longer. He couldn’t decide if she’d enjoy him dying by choking on his breath, or if she’d prefer to watch him suffer, as she seemed the type to enjoy watching people break. 

_‘That’s just it though, isn’t it?’_ Whispered the angry voice. _‘Whether or not she’d prefer death or suffering, she’d acted.’_

Harry hardly understood this second voice and he couldn’t fathom what it guessed at. He wondered belatedly about his inability to fully understand his own thoughts when the angry voice whispered again. 

_‘Proof.’_

A thunderous explosion shuddered through the classroom and forced Harry sluggishly from his thoughts. 

Discordant confusion erupted in him and he felt as if he couldn’t tell left from right. His eyelids drooped despite his desperation to look around and figure out what was happening. He nearly worried he wouldn’t be able to avoid being crushed beneath what was surely the ceiling caving in, but a bushy head of hair flew past him and ensnared his arm, wrenching him from his seat and onto his feet. 

“Out!” Hermione shouted over the noise. “Out now!” 

He twisted his head with a weak tilt and spotted Ron, whipping his wand in a neat twirl and sending parchment in every direction. 

“They brought down a bloody wall!?” Ron bellowed as they bolted from the classroom. “You’d think they were being intentionally thick!” 

“It doesn’t matter!” Hermione answered over her shoulder.

Her tight grip on Harry’s sleeve never faltered and she led them on a mad race through the winding passageways and connecting hallways. Their shoes cracked over the stone floor and a high-pitched sound whistled in Harry’s ear, making him worry he wouldn’t be able to keep up with Hermione’s quick movements. He was struggling to stay upright, to say nothing of keeping his feet moving beneath him. Harry belatedly realized she was avoiding wide corridors and stairways by taking an increasingly complicated route. 

“In here!” Hermione hissed breathlessly, guiding them toward a dusty, unused classroom and throwing herself and Harry inside. “I don’t—” She inhaled desperately. “I don’t think we were followed, but check the door, will you?” 

“Looks clear,” Ron said, equally out of breath. “I thought I saw Neville chase after us for a while, but I think we lost him on the second floor.” He added before tugging the door shut and locking it with a whisper and wave of his wand. He dropped his and Harry’s bags on the floor and fell forward, holding his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

Harry twisted and dropped weakly into a chair.

He’d lost time again. He’d fallen into his thoughts and been forced out in a deeply uncomfortable way, as his brain still seemed to be firing into a foggy and stupid part of himself. Snape hadn’t ever given a name to this phenomenon Harry experienced, but he’d been able to draw Harry out in ways that didn’t involve feeling like he was packed full of mud afterwards. 

“Alright.” Ron started, anger colouring his voice as he caught his breath. 

“Wait.” Hermione said, holding up a hand. 

“I want to know—”

“Ron! That wasn’t normal, it wasn’t—” 

“Obviously it wasn’t normal! We’ve spent months telling the truth about what happened and you just turn around and apologize for it! How do you explain that?!” Ron shouted as he rounded on Harry. 

“Ronald!” Hermione’s wand cracked through the air and sent several desks careening toward the walls. “There was something else wrong.” 

Harry nodded as he tried to catch his own breath. “I couldn’t breathe when she spoke. I don’t know what happened, it was,” He paused and his hand slipped upwards, rubbing at his throat as phantom ribbons slipped over his skin. “I couldn’t say anything, I don’t understand,” He wasn’t sure how to describe it. It wasn’t Umbridge’s voice in Harry’s head that’d given him the phrase required to make the ribbons go away. Harry’d just known innately what to say, though he still didn’t know how. “I don’t understand, I couldn’t breathe.” He repeated. 

Hermione nodded as a worried look magnified in her eyes. “I know.” She said. “It was awful, we couldn’t tell what was happening, you sort of just leant over—”

“And bloody well apologized.” Ron argued. 

“It was Umbridge.” Hermione said fiercely. “You saw that disgusting display of hers, you saw that, that cow by her desk.” Her eyes glittered wildly and her voice pitched into a girlish mimicry of Umbridge’s simpering. “You see? Nothing to fear.” Hermione said, parroting Umbridge’s earlier comments and giving an unerringly similar giggle. “And that self-satisfied smile, ergh!” She snarled before swinging left and storming down the long end of the classroom. She paced back and forth over the worn wooden floor and spun her wand in her hand. Harry couldn’t guess where her thoughts had gone, only that they’d bolted far ahead of his own. He still felt as if he were full of mud. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to come up with a single intelligent thought at the moment, no matter how hard he tried.

That feeling had slowly begun to fade since leaving the Defense classroom, but the entire process was highly uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure how long it would take either, as he’d never been wrenched from his thoughts so abruptly before. 

Ron at least seemed to have calmed down. His eyes had widened and followed Hermione’s angered path as he lingered almost nervously at the door. He blinked over at Harry momentarily and looked as if he wanted to apologize, but couldn’t quite bring himself to speak. Harry supposed that was better than nothing, but he hoped Ron wouldn’t yell at him again. He already felt dreadful and adding Ron’s anger on top, especially in the face of Harry’s new found issue, wasn’t helping. 

Soft, clipped sounds escaped from Hermione as she paced. Her hands crept upwards and she plucked at the shirt sleeves of her button down while a multitude of emotions flashed across her eyes. 

Harry wished he knew where her thoughts had spun off to. He nearly thought back to the awful encounter himself in search for any evidence, but he didn’t fancy the awful slippery ribbons brushing over his face again. He knew they now had proof though. Hermione knew that as well, because Harry would never have denied Cedric’s death so blatantly and no matter how Umbridge tried to hide her actions, she couldn’t hide the fact that Harry now felt ribbons where he hadn’t before. Nearly choking to death on them must've been evidence of Umbridge’s actions, but Harry wasn’t sure how that would look in any sort of formal investigation. 

What if Umbridge could choose when Harry lied and when he told the truth? 

An icy stone dropped into his belly at that thought. The urge to escape to the dungeons and find Snape stole through him, but before he could run, Hermione whirled in place and ran closer, shoving him back into the chair with a rough push. 

“Hermione!” Ron’s tight-strung voice echoed around the room. 

The tip of Hermione’s wand darkened as red smoke began to billow outward. “What toy was Harry Potter given this summer?” She asked. 

The chair dug into Harry’s back as Hermione leant closer. 

“Erm.” He stuttered, suddenly worrying about everything he’d so much as touched over the summer. He couldn’t remember if he’d actually been given any toys, nor could he guess why Hermione was interested in them. He hadn’t realized she’d known about any of them either. 

“Hermione what’s wrong with you!” Ron asked, trying to come nearer before Hermione’s wand flashed in his direction. 

“Harry Potter would have told Umbridge the truth about Cedric.” Hermione said. 

Harry shook his head and desperately tried to scrounge up his memories. “A, erm, Ms Eileen found me a—a football.” He said finally, relieved to have come up with anything in spite of his cloudy thoughts. 

Hermione’s eyes hardened and her wand slid closer still. “Anything else?” She asked. 

Snapshots of his time in Germany filtered through his confusion. He had never truly considered Hermione turning her wand on him and now that she had, he felt a sudden empathy for the fear Malfoy likely experienced anytime it turned on him. 

“A stuffed dog!” Harry shouted as the image of the stuffed animal flew into his mind. “It looks like Padfoot!” 

Hermione’s wand dropped and she fell forward, giving Harry a tight hug. “That’s correct. I’m so sorry, I was worried. Once I’d thought you might be an imposter, I couldn’t let it go. What if you were and we’d taken you to see Ruffles and then ruined their cover, I was, I was horrified Harry. I’m so sorry.” She said. 

“I’ve been with you for two days now, don’t you think you’d have picked up on it sooner?” Harry asked. 

“Well, I had thought so, but after Professor Moody and Avery’s impersonation, I couldn’t leave it to chance.” Hermione said as she pulled back and shrugged. 

“Blimey, Hermione,” Ron said weakly. “Bit overkill, but alright. What was all the smoke? How did you make that?” 

Harry’s eyes flashed between Ron and Hermione as they spoke. His heart had yet to stop pounding and he was wondering at what point he’d pass out from it. 

“It’s actually nothing, but I didn’t know what else to do. The smoke I did create is from a smokescreen spell. The actual screen won’t appear unless you say the incantation. I’d thought it would look intimidating enough to an imposter though.” Hermione said.

Harry nodded. “It worked on me, I didn’t know what it was though.” He wasn’t sure how it would work against an actual Death Eater, or whoever else might be masquerading as others, but he didn’t know any spells to give Hermione to use instead. They’d have to ask Snape. “How did you know about the stuffed dog?” He asked suddenly as embarrassment trickled through him. He hadn’t shown either Ron or Hermione the dog, nor did he mention it, having thought it was too childish to bring up. 

Hermione blushed and wrung her hands together. “I did a bit of spying on you over the summer, just to make sure you were alright!” She added when Harry dropped his head into his hands. 

Ron made an uncomfortable sound. 

“Er, right.” He said. “Let’s get back to Umbridge.”

“Of course, yes.” Hermione coughed. “We should try and remember everything Umbridge said. I don’t know what happened, but I’m certain what she said caused the effects. We should explain to Ruffles the next time we see them and try and tell Dumbledore immediately.” 

Harry looked upwards and nodded before climbing shakily to his feet. “We have to get to potions soon, we might want to start making our way now.” 

“Actually.” Hermione paused offhandedly as she blinked at the floor. “Actually, no. Sit back down, Harry.” 

“What? Why? You want us to be late? For potions?” Ron asked as shock spread across his face. 

“No, not at all, certainly not on our first day.” Hermione said. A thin crease of worry cut between her eyebrows. “That would be terrible—but what I mean to say is, I had a thought and I didn’t want Harry to be hurt if it turned out to be true, since you didn’t look very well after, whatever it was, happened in class.” She said, waving her hands as she spoke.

“Well, how could I look well?” Harry snapped. “I couldn’t breathe.” 

“Exactly.” Hermione said with a sharp look. “That was my point. What I want to ask is, what happened last spring?” 

“You know what happened.” Harry said as he crossed arms and sat. “What do you want me to say?” 

“No. I mean, tell me what happened. What happened after you and Cedric grabbed the trophy.” 

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but before a word could slip out, ribbons tore over his jaw and burned hotly as they careened into his mouth and down his throat. He choked and tried to tug them out but he couldn’t force his body to do what he wanted. He couldn’t even tell if they were real or not, or if Ron and Hermione could see them.

“I’m sorry!” Hermione shouted. “I’m so sorry! Ron, help!” 

“Say what you did last time Harry! It was something about speaking out!” 

Harry tried to shake his head, but he could hardly move. He couldn’t tell if it was his recent, near constant oxygen deprivation or his intense urge to fight back against Umbridge’s actions, but he refused to give in without at least attempting to fight. 

“Harry, please!” Hermione begged. 

The ribbons loosened momentarily, allowing him a thin gasp. Harry knew immediately what he’d need to say to make it stop, thought he wondered again how. The phrase had changed though, seeming to take Hermione’s word choice into question similar to the way it’d tailored itself for Umbridge.

“It was a—a,” He began, unable to even begin to say the next word. Every piece of him railed against it. 

“Make it stop.” Hermione said again. “Make it stop!” Her wand whipped back and forth over Harry’s head, but nothing seemed to change. He didn’t know why he’d thought anything might, but put it down to Hermione’s usual logic and skill saving him at the last second. 

“It was a t-t-tragic accident.” Harry choked as he slumped to the right and hung over the chair. “I shouldn’t have spoke—spoken out, I just haven’t found my feet!” 

The ribbons receded slowly, just as they had earlier. Harry dropped forward and would’ve tipped out of the chair had Ron not darted closer and caught his shoulder. He helped push him back into the chair as air rushed through his lungs once more. 

The three of them stood for a long moment as the sounds of Harry trying to breathe past the awful ribbons and exhaustion sinking through him echoed in the quiet classroom. He wanted this day to be done already. He wanted to hide in his dormitory until he could rationalize everything this changed. 

Did it change much? Not many people had asked him about Voldemort’s return yet, but Harry had glared down anyone who’d been brave enough to approach him. The ribbons slipped over his jaw, reminding him unnecessarily of his inability to speak on the topic. He shuddered against the feeling. Everyone in Defense knew what he’d said. They couldn't have missed it, with how Umbridge carried on during and after they’d spoken. Seamus was going to pick a fight with him soon and a burnt blanket was going to be the least of his worries. 

He wondered how quickly it was spreading through the school. Maybe Snape already knew about what happened in Harry’s dreadful Defense class? He wasn’t looking forward to potions, not when Snape would probably put on a good show for the Slytherin’s who took that lesson with them, nor was he looking forward to Malfoy. 

Malfoy, who already knew Harry’d been six for a month and now would have even more to torment Harry about. 

He blinked upward after finally beginning to feel more normal. 

Hermione’s hands were caught tightly around her mouth. 

“Right, reckon we’re done asking that question from now on.” Ron said quietly. “You know,” He turned in place and grabbed his and Harry’s bags once more. “We might be able to fix things a bit, I think?” 

Harry stood and gave him a sour look. “How’s that, d’you suppose?” He asked. “I can just release an official statement on paper maybe? Or I could, I dunno, write the Daily Prophet and retract what other people are saying about me?” 

“No, none of that.” Ron said as he pulled Hermione from her stupor. “But Hermione or I can answer for you. We can say you’re mental about talking about it and You-Know-Who did something?” He passed Harry his bag and led them from the classroom, making sure to keep them each walking with sturdy tugs when they lagged. “Not that you are mental mate, just, you know.”

“Harry, I’m so sorry.” Hermione apologized softly. “I knew that might happen, but I felt we’d need to know for sure.” 

“No, it’s fine.” Harry said through clenched teeth. “You’re probably right to figure it out. I just never, ever want to feel like that again.” He added as they descended several sets of stairs and swept into the dungeons. They hardly passed any other students, for which Harry was thankful for. He wasn’t surprised though, given they were very nearly late and passing time was coming to a close. “I don’t want to deal with Snape right now either.” Snape wouldn’t love it if the three of them were late for his first class. 

What if he was angry with Harry about it? 

Maybe Harry could pass it off as trying to maintain their secrecy by acting how he typically had?

Hermione nodded sympathetically. “I’m sure he’ll give us a show. I hate the idea of us saying you’re mental though, you’ve already gone through enough. We can try and keep them at bay instead. I’m sure we’ll think of something if that doesn’t work.” 

Harry didn’t want to consider being forced to rely on Ron and Hermione to keep his story alive. What if Umbridge targeted them next? 

They slipped into their potions classroom with seconds to spare and found what followed to be surprisingly similar to the usual first days in years past. While Snape rarely looked their way, on the off chance he did, it was usually to snap something helpful at Harry. He mentioned twice that the direction Harry sliced his newt’s eyes in was abysmal, but neglected to say anything to Ron despite the two sharing the ingredient. Harry half wondered if all of Snape’s comments throughout the last four years had been meant to steer him toward becoming a better potions master, but scratched that thought after remembering Snape’s particular preference for neglecting to tell Harry how to counteract any poisons he came in contact after last year. 

“Remain behind, Potter.” Snape drawled as the bell rang. 

Harry gave him a look and tried to convey thankfulness behind what he hoped appeared to be anger. He shoved his books and parchment into his bag and tried to pretend like he was cleaning as he waited for the rest of the class to leave. Hermione patted him comfortingly on the shoulder and hurried away to her Arithmancy class, leaving Ron to handle what Slytherin’s came his way. 

“Weasel, how fortuitous—” 

He could already see Ron’s ears colouring as Malfoy’s snide voice echoed quietly through the room. 

“To class, Mr Malfoy.” Snape said with a lazy wave of his wand. “We wouldn’t want to be caught misbehaving now, would we?” 

Malfoy smirked and stepped from the room while Harry tried to recall what Snape’s usual interactions with Malfoy looked like. Any thought he’d given their relationship in the past revolved around how much Snape let Malfoy get away with, but now he was less sure if that was the truth. He wondered if it had more to do with Lucius Malfoy and how much Snape could say to Draco without having Lucius owl him. Snape’s emphasis on the word ‘caught’ had Harry worrying for Ron, but he wasn’t sure if he could leave the potion’s classroom to forewarn him. 

Once the room had cleared, Snape flicked his wand once more and forced the doors to slam shut as a fuzzy spell coated over them. He dropped into the chair behind his desk and gestured for Harry to come closer. 

“How was Umbridge?” Snape asked. 

“Horrible.” Harry said as he dragged a stool closer to Snape’s desk. He moved to fall into the seat and found it’d been transfigured seconds before he landed. Rather than the hard topped stool, it was now an oversized, plush armchair. “I don’t,” Harry tried to start, though he couldn’t tell where to begin. “I don’t know where to begin, but she asked and I couldn’t breathe.” He tried to explain. The ribbons brushed over his lips once more and this time Harry asked. “Can you see them?” 

Snape blinked at Harry and raised his eyebrows. 

“The ribbons.” Harry said. “Hermione and Ron acted like they couldn’t see them.” 

“Harry, you aren’t making much sense at the moment.” Snape said. “You couldn’t breathe?” He asked. 

“No, I couldn’t—there were ribbons!” Harry said, stumbling over his words. He could hardly keep track of them now that he’d begun trying to explain how he’d felt when Umbridge had spoken with him. He’d thought his earlier confusion had more to do with his falling into his thoughts, but he was becoming increasingly worried that whatever Umbridge had done, it’d trickled into his ability to explain what he was experiencing. 

“Occlude for a moment with me.” Snape said. “You have a break period between now and your next class, correct?” 

Harry nodded but couldn’t restrain his steadily growing panic. 

“Then occlude for a moment. Close your eyes and picture the snitch.” 

“I don’t see how this will help.” 

“Humour me. You’re distressed and will benefit.” Snape gave him an encouraging look. 

Harry whinged and shoved his hands into his hair before taking a deep breath. The snitch flickered in his thoughts and swooped left and right as he attempted to catch it. It darted just out of reach each time he so much as grazed a wing. After what felt like countless attempts, he changed tack and turned to drawing lazy arcs through low hanging clouds. 

“Alright,” Snape’s soft voice surrounded him. “Now, don’t open your eyes. Tell me what happened on your way to Defense class.” 

Harry nodded. “Ron was upset that he couldn’t throw the fire-cracker. Fred and George brought down a wall, by the way, not a window.”

“I’ll handle any repercussions should they appear. What happened next?” 

“We saw the books on Umbridge’s desk and Hermione checked to make sure we were in the right classroom, because there wasn’t much else around.” Harry said as he sank farther into the armchair and imagined himself arcing upwards over the clouds and towards a starry night sky. “Umbridge came in, introduced herself and started talking about the course aims, which Hermione had a question about, and Umbridge was nasty to her.”

“I’m sure Miss Granger had several questions.” Snape said as the scratch of a quill echoed in Harry’s ears. He wondered if Snape had begun grading summer essays yet, as he’d told Harry it was one of his least enjoyable tasks, though every once in a while a student would manage to surprise him with a clever suggestion. 

“Well, yeah, the class is more of a law class. Dean pointed that out. Umbridge started asking us if we knew how fast Aurors could arrive at crime scenes.”

“Most are remarkably slow, in case you were curious.” Snape said. 

Harry snickered before remembering Snape’s wisdom likely came from personal experience with his background as a Death Eater. 

“Proceed.” Snape said. 

“Right,” Harry said. “Well, Hermione made a point about that, she said she’d summoned an Auror and I think she meant Professor Moody, or I guess, Barty Crouch Jr.” 

“Not someone she’d willingly choose to summon in her hour of need, I’d imagine.” 

“No. Probably not.” Maybe Harry was more stressed than he’d imagined, but he found himself almost falling asleep. He often used Occlumency to fall asleep though, so that made sense. “Well, Umbridge didn’t like Hermione’s comment and told her it was all a mix up, but Ron backed Hermione up. Umbridge asked him if he was a Ministry employee, and Ron said no, to which she’d said he was mixed up.” 

Snape hummed and Harry realized they’d come to the point when he’d need to admit to having ruined their plans by intentionally baiting Umbridge. 

“Harry?” 

“Well,” Harry started. The night sky faded in his imagination and Umbridge’s taffy-pink ribbons shot toward him, hurdling around his body and sending him plummeting to the earth. His eyes flashed open before he could hit the ground and he looked at Snape, trying to head off any anger quickly. “I said she should ask me about it.” 

Snape blinked at him with a blank stare and Harry wondered if he should begin apologizing. He’d never done something downright wrong in Germany and Snape had nothing in line for punishment for Harry, not that Harry knew of at least. 

“And she said I’d already explained myself last night.” Harry said weakly. 

Snape’s eyebrows rose. 

“But I hadn’t!” Harry said in a high-strung voice. “And then there were ribbons.” Phantom ribbons slipped over his lips again though this time far less intensely. He despised the soft caress and began attributing it to Umbridge’s nasty, small smile. “Ribbons, can you see them now? They’re here.” 

“What did you say to Umbridge?” Snape asked.

“I can’t say what I said. I won’t be able to breathe if I do.” 

“I think you will.” Snape stood and his dark wand appeared in his hand. “Take a deep breath and repeat it for me, please.” 

Harry shook his head and a small trickle of worry dripped down his back. He’d already endured the ribbons twice today and in a short amount of time. 

Snape dropped into a crouch before Harry’s armchair and flicked his wand upwards, sending a cool draft over Harry’s sweaty form. The quill continued to scratch despite Snape having left his desk. 

“I shouldn’t have spoken out, I just haven’t found my feet.” Harry whispered and flinched as he prepared to choke. He blinked dumbly at his own voice and clear throat after the fact. “That’s not what happened last time I spoke, Hermione even checked.” He quickly said as horror replaced his worry. This only made him seem even more like a liar and as if he whinged about Umbridge’s actions with no just cause. “It changed, inbetween, I promise it did. Hermione tried again in an empty classroom, the second time I’d said ‘it was a tragic accident, I shouldn’t have spoken out, I just haven’t found my feet’, it—I, I had to, because Hermione asked—”

“I don’t doubt it.” Snape said softly. “Umbridge said you’d explained yourself and you felt, how?” 

“Ribbons.” Harry said, aghast at his own quick answer. He tried to explain again. “I mean, I didn’t, I couldn’t breathe, I feel—there are—”

“Ribbons.” Snape repeated. “You can’t explain how you feel. Only that there are ribbons.” He added before twisting on his heel and pulling up a roll of parchment and showing Harry. Written on it was every word he and Snape had said, the entire story Harry’d just told, laid out clearly. “You provided me with a solid, coherent explanation for the entirety of this conversation, the only instance where you babble, is with how you described the effects you experience.” 

Harry had the oddest urge to cry but he put it down to frustration. He wasn’t sure which was worse, the babbling or the choking. He’d almost choose to go endure the choking because at least those around him wouldn’t think of him as mad.

“I didn’t babble intentionally.” 

“No,” Snape shook his head and leant against his desk. “That’s part of the issue. I will not subject you to the more violent effect of this malady,” He said slowly. “Though there are several potions I know of that can incept the imbiber and tailor the effects like what you’re experiencing, though they’re obscure and I wouldn’t have imagined Umbridge would come into contact with one of them without a tremendous amount of research. That is to say if it even is a potion.” 

“It might not be a potion?” Harry asked. 

“There are too many things it might be.” Snape said. 

Harry fell back into the armchair and lamented his life. “You don’t have any ideas, or thoughts about it?” He asked, wonderingly somewhat morbidly if Snape had ever encountered something similar while in Voldemort’s service. 

“I have several.” Snape flicked his wand, somehow making Harry’s armchair soften farther. “Dolores Umbridge is labouring under the delusion that she is the only person able to step into the Dark Arts in order to succeed at her task.” 

Harry blinked confusedly. “Why would she think that?” 

“Because she is unaware that whatever she has done to you, has left traces.” Snape said as he held the parchment up once more. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it, please leave a comment below! I light up reading them. I worry this chapter seems slow, but I dearly hope you guys enjoy it regardless! ❤


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't often begin with trigger warnings, tho I absolutely should be more cognizant of them and promise to be in the future, but please double check the tags before reading.

“I really think we should owl Snuffles.” Hermione said as her finger grazed over the spines of several Charms books. “I don’t think we’ll be able to find what we need within our library.” 

Harry thumbed through his own thick and dusty charms book and debated what Sirius would do when he heard of Umbridge’s actions. It’d been several weeks since he and Snape had spoken in his classroom about Harry’s choking problem and they hadn’t managed to uncover anything yet. He scanned over the pages in front of him at random and eyed counter-charms and preventative spells, but he didn’t see much in the way of stemming symptoms of what he experienced. Hermione seemed confident they’d be able to alleviate Harry’s babbling, though Harry couldn’t say he felt the same. She’d had a distinctly uncomfortable look in her eyes when he mentioned Snape’s Dark Arts theory though, and that, Harry was sure they felt the same way about.

He almost wished Ron were here, as Harry was sure he’d have something funny to help ease the tension brought on by this subject, but he was distantly glad he wasn’t. Ron had never liked researching in the library and there was no amount of bribery that could’ve kept him from reading when he could be out flying. 

Harry didn’t love researching either, but he didn’t have much choice. 

He belatedly remembered Ron and Hermione’s course loads hardly allowed for flying this year and that he shouldn’t be taking any free time from either of them. That was especially true given the watchful guard duty they’d kept up around Harry. No one other than Ginny and Neville had managed to ask Harry about Umbridge’s first day of class, for which Harry was endlessly thankful for. 

Seamus, on the other hand, had found even more time to sneer at him. 

“The library at Snuffles’s house might even include whatever it is Umbridge has done, given the content of some of the books.” 

Harry blinked as he looked up. “Mrs Weasley let you snoop in that library?” 

“Hardly.” Hermione said. “But Ron kept a look out while I snuck in and grabbed what I could. We made a daily job of it. When I was researching what had happened to you, I came across several books I’d never seen before and couldn’t resist perusing, though I wish I hadn’t.” 

“And?” Harry asked with morbid curiosity. 

“They were revolting.” Hermione grimaced. “They were so much older and darker than what I’ve read before, and written in an increasingly disorganized fashion. I think Snuffles’s relatives wrote several of them and from what I read, they weren’t in their right minds.” 

“Snuffles has mentioned part of his family is mad.” 

“This wasn’t madness, Harry.” Hermione said with a concerned frown. “Or, not mad in the way I think you or I would see it. It was all intentional, truly intentional.” She said. “They built off of one another as well, which I hadn’t anticipated, though I really should have. If one person wrote about an idea and the potential incantations and logic behind it, another would add on with outcomes they’d witnessed or what bedlam ensued.” 

Harry shoved his book back onto the shelf as Hermione’s arms folded around her stomach. 

“I don’t think a library like that has any business in a school of course, but if we’re meant to be researching something that equally has no business in a school, it’d be an invaluable source.” Hermione added. “I also think Snuffles may have some ideas about this anyway. He talked a bit about the sort of person his mother was and from the sound of her, she’d have loved the type of magic you’re going through.” 

Harry shuddered at the thought of phantom ribbons cascading softly across his face. “Well, I haven’t owled him yet. I feel like when he learns about what happened, he’ll come storming in.” 

Hermione nodded tightly as she whispered a spell and made several charms books leap from the higher shelves. 

“It’s entirely possible. We’ll have to be much more careful with how we bring it up to him, given how much Umbridge seems to want a scandal.” She said making her way through the aisle as her steadily growing stack of books and Harry trailed behind her. “I have a feeling he’ll have some sort of background knowledge about combatting your symptoms at least. Of course, well.” Her voice trailed off as she paused and blinked at the floor. 

“Well?” Harry asked as he helped neaten the bobbing stack. 

“Well, that’s not the only thing we’ve got to worry about is it?” She said. “We need to combat your symptoms of course, but we can’t really combat what we don’t know and I’m not sure if Snuffles will be able to detect the exact problem. I hadn’t really thought of a detection process until recently, because we’ve been more focused with the ways this permeates in your day to day experiences.”

“Right,” Harry said slowly. “Some warning before I go choking on ribbons would be pleasant.” He added in an obvious tone. 

Hermione huffed and twisted on her heel. “If we’re going to try detecting something though, don’t you think we should owl someone with more knowledge in that?” 

“Who did you have in mind?” Harry asked. “Not Mad-Eye Moody?” 

He didn’t fancy owling Moody. What would he even say? ‘I know we’ve never formally met, but I let myself be captured by a taffy-pink toad and made to choke on ribbons, what should I do?’ Harry shook his head and tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of his own stupidity washing over him. 

“Actually, I had thought Bill Wealsey might be more helpful.” Hermione said. “He is a curse breaker and he’s skilled with detection. Ruffles said this could be any number of things, didn’t he?” 

“Ruffles also said there were potions that could be the cause and I definitely drank something.” Harry said as the idea that he probably would need to inform others of his current problems curled unpleasantly along his uneasy stomach. There was something innately mortifying about it. Informing others of how he’d stumbled into a blatant attack without even attempting to defend himself rankled him and he wished all the more fervently he’d caught on to Umbridge’s actions sooner. 

Hermione paused again before snagging a book near her knee. “Part of the reason I want to owl Bill is because I’m worried about Ruffles researching this.” 

Harry felt his eyes widen as Hermione turned and looked at him as she inhaled deeply. 

Harry’s first post-class potions visit had turned into something of a ritual for the two of them, where Harry’d either disappear with most of the other students before doubling back or just linger until the last student left. Snape hadn’t mentioned anyone catching on to them yet, so he figured it was safe. They’d spent most of the time discussing Harry’s symptoms and it was for that reason he couldn’t imagine someone more perfect to research Harry’s problem than Snape. Especially given just how much research Snape did in his down time. Snape had a book in hand more often than he didn’t and when he wasn’t actively learning about potions, he was leaving scathing reviews on Potions magazines. He never seemed interested in any other sort of literature.

He genuinely enjoyed research. 

“Why?” Harry asked. “They’re probably more qualified than anyone else we know—”

“That’s exactly why.” Hermione whispered as she crept closer to Harry. “The Dark Arts can be addictive. I know I don’t know all of what you’ve learnt about Ruffles, but from what you have told me and what we’ve eavesdropped on, this wouldn’t be their first time researching the subject.” 

A sense of dread began to tighten along Harry’s muscles as the memory of their first night in Lily’s flat echoed in his ears. Snape had said Lily sent her necklace to him in an attempt to push him from his interest in the Dark Arts. He’d also been painfully honest about his time as a genuine Death Eater and what lengths he’d gone to in his work beneath Voldemort. 

Harry shivered against the phantom ribbons brushing across his lips. The necklace bloomed to life almost as if it knew it was being thought of.

“This has been on my mind for a few days now, I’m just, I’m worried. I trust Ruffles to solve the problem, I just also worry what diving into this might do to them.” Hermione added.

Sirius had mentioned Snape’s interest with the subject as well, when he’d frightened Harry before kidnapping him. He’d given a clear warning about Snape and Avery’s old friendship and Harry didn’t need to know the particulars to know Snape had likely created gruesome magic in his pursuit to please Voldemort. He certainly didn’t need to see Voldemort in action to know of his own unparalleled fascination with the Dark Arts and how it spiralled and infected everyone who came into contact with him. 

Sirius’s voice hissed in his ear, reminding him that the dark mark on Snape’s arm wasn’t just for show. 

“I—I, I’m not,” Harry stammered. Shame trickled through him and he suddenly found his earlier needy actions intolerable. He’d gone running to Snape so quickly that he never considered the consequences this could cause him. He’d gone and given a recovered addict their drug of choice. “What—”

“We’ll write Bill and Snuffles.” Hermione said with a firm nod and held one of the books up. “And we’ll research ways to alleviate your symptoms and hopefully, try and keep Ruffles from doing too much of their own research.” 

“They’ve already begun researching though.” Harry said as he tried to swallow back his shame. 

“I doubt we can just stop them at the moment, but we’ll think of something.” Hermione said beneath her breath. “Let’s go find Ron and ask about Bill for right now. I think Ginny mentioned he was with Dean earlier, though I do hope he hasn’t gone and gotten into another row with Seamus.” 

Harry found himself unable to care about Seamus’s poor attempts at bullying in the face of his own recent stupidity. He should’ve been more aware of Snape’s past. 

They’d discussed it more than once and Snape had never hidden from it. The bitter gift of hindsight only screamed louder at Harry about thick-headed actions. He should’ve been well aware of Snape’s previous addiction, given how quickly he’d seen through Harry’s choking problem and been able to show him his own symptoms. 

A quiet voice in the back of his mind asked whether or not they should ask Snape how he felt, but Harry felt that was a stupid question. He shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place. 

They passed by Madam Pince and checked their selection out before attempting to stuff everything into Hermione’s already overfilled bag. Madam Pince clicked her tongue, but neglected to say anything as Hermione gave a sheepish smile and collected what wouldn’t fit and split it between herself and Harry to carry. 

“Oh! I bet we could distract them!” Hermione said excitedly as they made their way down the corridor. “See, I don’t think solely removing the source of the addiction will stop the urge, as it isn’t the most helpful course of action with breaking addiction. Removing the behavioural pattern and waiting it out doesn’t always work, you have to provide an adjacent pattern to focus on instead. Though, they already have quite a bit on their plate, don’t they?” 

“Well.” Harry started as more of his troubles spun into his thoughts. 

Snape was already researching and attempting to brew a cure for Avery’s incorrectly made aging potion, spying on Voldemort, spying on Dumbledore, teaching Harry Occlumency, teaching seven years worth of students a core subject and researching a way to break Harry’s current choking problem. 

“I have to stop bringing my problems to them.” Harry said dully. 

“I don’t think that’s quite right.” Hermione shook her head wildly. “They’re a multitasker, we’ve already seen that. What we need is to keep them more focused on a tangentially related research issue rather than Umbridge. We even have the perfect distraction, the first troublesome problem.” 

They slipped into the courtyard and past the stone bridge where several groups of students were talking and joking with one another. Hermione climbed to her tip toes and peered around, searching for Ron or Dean, but didn’t seem to spot them. 

“That has an immediate fix, despite how temporary it is.” Harry said as he shook his own head as he looked around as well. 

It was frustrating to wait for nausea to roil in his stomach before he was able to take the temporary antidote, but it kept him from appearing as a six year old for at least two days. Harry knew Snape was working on both issues, despite not having any time, it was very likely he’d prioritized the infinitely more painful problem over the mildly inconveniencing one. Harry felt they were both horrible, but he knew which one he’d rather handle first.

“No, I really don’t think—”

“Oh, has daycare finished, then?” Malfoy’s snide tone cut across the courtyard and silenced the idle chatter nearest them.

His mum’s necklace warmed as Harry’s hands tightened around his books. A distant voice in the back of his mind tried to judge how much trouble he and Hermione would be in if he damaged everything in his arms by dropping it all to the ground and grabbing his wand. He’d been wildly lucky to have avoided Malfoy for the last few weeks, but he had a feeling that luck had only given Malfoy more time to prepare. 

“I must say, being out without a nanny to hold your hand,” Malfoy added before hopping down from the stone balustrade. “I’m impressed, Potter.” 

“I’ll bet you are,” Harry snapped back. “Given that you’ve never done an impressive thing in your life.” 

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed and he reached into his pocket as he stepped closer to them. 

“Harry.” Hermione whispered. “Let’s just go, he’s only going to—”

“When my father told me what’d happened,” Malfoy clicked his tongue. “We thought we might want to help, what with you already being a charity case.” 

“Oh, do tell us, Malfoy.” Harry began as an idea spun into thoughts. He couldn’t tell if it was a horrible idea or not, but at the moment, that didn’t matter. “Why would your father think anything happened to me, Malfoy?” He asked innocently. “You’ll have to enlighten us. Where would he have come up with this?” 

Hermione inhaled slowly and her fingers tightened around her own collection of books. 

Malfoy paled, though it was hardly noticeable. Harry dearly hoped he would give himself away, as no one but Death Eaters or Order members had known of Harry’s previous condition. 

_‘Ongoing_ , _’_ his mind supplied quietly. _‘His ongoing condition.’_

Malfoy’s grey eyes flashed and an oily smile slid across his lips. “He heard it from Professor Snape, of course. They spoke over the summer, as friends—”

A buzzing took over in Harry’s ears as his heart dropped into an icy bath. Snape would never have said something so dangerous to Lucius. Snape wouldn’t. The crack in Harry’s soul that he’d thought had begun to mend, splintered as it broke open once more. 

It had to be a lie. It must’ve been. Snape wouldn’t have said anything to Lucius that could come back to hurt Harry. 

Malfoy’s voice loomed over the buzzing, as did Hermione’s, though Harry wasn’t sure what she was saying. It was likely something about how much of a liar Malfoy was. 

Lucius heard it from Voldemort, Harry was positive of that. Draco was lying. 

It had to be a lie. 

Malfoy’s cruel smile’s during Potions blinked in the back of Harry’s mind. Had Snape and Malfoy discussed something behind Harry’s back? Why would Malfoy act as if he had permission to torment Harry if Snape hadn’t spoken with him?

Malfoy acted like this, because he’d always acted like this, Harry tried to remind himself. Whether or not he had permission, Malfoy bullied people. 

It had to be a lie. 

“We were all so sorry to hear, but,” Malfoy said as he broke through Harry’s thoughts with a crooning voice. “Father, in his unending kindness toward the lesser among us, asked me to present you with a gift.” Malfoy withdrew his hand from his pocket and a small blue infant’s pacifier appeared in his palm. He hissed a spell and flicked his wand, sending it rocketing towards Harry.

Harry struggled to move. 

His thoughts circled viciously around Malfoy’s comment and no amount of logic could stop it from tunneling deeper into his thoughts. The only vision where he’d seen Lucius and Snape speaking, had been when they’d discussed Avery. 

Snape hadn’t brought up Harry’s condition. 

If he had, Harry hadn’t seen it happen. 

It had to be a lie. 

_“ARRESTO MOMENTUM!”_ Hermione shouted as her books fell to the ground and her wand flew into her hand. 

Blood rushed to Harry’s face as the pacifier shivered to a stop a hair's width from his lips. 

“Suck on it, Potter.” 

Something wickedly sharp tore across Harry’s thoughts and began making violent cacophony of sounds. A fierce heat spread over his chest and flew down his fingers, quickly overtaking the warm feeling from his mum’s pendant with a burning fury. Before Harry realized what happened, Malfoy was flat on the ground. The books Harry’d been holding were scattered alongside Hermione’s and the small blue pacifier lay just to the left of Malfoy’s foot, though Harry couldn’t tell if he’d sent it back at him or not. 

His fingers tightened around his wand in a poor attempt to stem the anger trembling through his body. 

He blinked down, realizing belatedly he must’ve grabbed it some point. 

“You utter cockroach!” Hermione shouted as she jerked closer and sent Malfoy scrabbling to his feet. She chased him farther from Harry and back toward the balustrade where Crabbe and Goyle looked to be nervously debating whether or not to run away. Pansy Parkinson’s wand had dropped into her hand, though she didn’t seem inclined to use it. “You go around bullying brighter and better people than you could ever be, all because you’re an empty—”

“Bloody hell!” Ron’s shocked voice appeared at Harry’s shoulder. “What’ve I missed?” He asked.

The enraged, burning anger hadn’t quite abated, nor had Harry’s panic and worry. He wasn’t sure he could string a sentence together, to say nothing of how he would explain what happened between Malfoy, Harry and Hermione.

“Erm.” Harry started in a poor attempt. His heart had yet to stop pounding and whatever had shot through his brain was turning any useful thoughts to mush. A voice who sounded suspiciously like Snape, whispered at Harry to occlude in the face of this much anger, but Harry could hardly picture the snitch, nor could he think of anything as pleasant as flying. 

Had Snape told Lucius Malfoy about Harry? 

If it had happened, it would’ve happened before his and Harry’s relationship had changed. Did that change how Harry should feel about this? 

He couldn’t tell. 

Malfoy had lied, why he even bothered with this line of thinking was beyond him. Malfoy had always been a liar. 

Had Snape told Lucius Malfoy though? 

No, Voldemort told Lucius Malfoy. 

“Harry, mate, let’s get Hermione before she’s expelled.” Ron said with a firm shoulder pat. He dodged around the fallen books and snagged Hermione’s sleeve. He tried twice to tug her away before finally succeeding on his third attempt. 

“—Vile, bullying,” Hermione breathed heavily as she neared Harry. “Ferret! How—how dare he?” She asked as she kneeled shakily and collected their fallen books. Harry began to kneel to join her, but she held her hand out, keeping him standing. “I’ll report him for this, just wait and see.” She stacked the books into Ron’s waiting arms before climbing to her feet and wrapping Harry in a warm hug. 

“Right.” Ron said. “Right, of course we’ll report him, report him for what exactly, though?” 

Harry wished he’d realized how nice hugs were sooner in his life, as Hermione’s was doing wonders for his panic. He tightened his grip on her and wished it would push away all of his fear in the same way Snape’s hugs often did. 

His heart clenched at that thought and he tried to convince himself once more that Malfoy was a liar. Harry knew he had been lying because he knew how the story had come to Voldemort. Snape had been the one to tell him about what had happened when they’d been in Lily’s flat. Snape had been honest and explained all about his and Avery’s deal and he tried to explain how Death Eaters apparently accepted lies for lies in order to save their own necks. 

Harry still struggled with some of Snape’s logic, but that logic didn’t change how Draco had come to learn about Harry’s previous—ongoing condition. 

He wasn’t sure why his heart still hurt despite his reasoning. 

Maybe Snape thought of him as too childish at the time, but that had been typical of their previous interactions. Snape had always assumed Harry was immature and spoiled.

Snape had told Harry, quite specifically, he’d been mistaken. This was just Malfoy. 

“I don’t know where to start.” Hermione said as she pulled back and rubbed at her misty eyes. “It was horrid. He’s horrid.” 

“Well that’s Malfoy in one, isn’t it?” Ron asked.

“He gets worse every year.” Hermione said. “Are you alright, Harry? That was dreadful.” She asked as she began to lead them back into Hogwarts and toward their common room. 

“It’s just Malfoy.” Harry said with a weak nod and wished he felt more confident in his answer. “I reckon he hasn’t got anything on V-Voldemort.” He stammered as the ribbons cascaded across his face, but didn’t restrict his breathing. 

He’d slowly tried to accommodate around them, but found that each time they brushed across his face felt as horrible as the first time. He’d begun categorizing what he could say without feeling ribbons as well, despite Snape’s firm warning not to go messing about with whatever was wrong with him. He needed to know if he could speak Voldemort’s name though, as well as what he could think, as the ribbons danced down his jaw at the very thought of Voldemort, but didn’t wake for You-Know-Who, or Tom Riddle for that matter. 

While Harry wasn’t very interested in why Umbridge chose one moniker over another, he was curious as to why she wanted him suddenly fearful of saying Voldemort’s name. It didn’t make much sense for the Ministry to deny Harry’s story and turn around and make Harry visibly nervous of the megalomaniac. If he was truly gone, Harry should feel free to say what he liked. 

There should’ve been no need to fear at all. 

“Just Malfoy being a bullying prat.” Hermione repeated with a sneer. “He was dreadful, Ron. I can’t believe no one went to get a teacher during that horrible display of his.” 

“I reckon they probably didn’t because you’re both prefects.” Ron said. 

Hermione huffed before beginning to relay the story. She derailed several times to bring up additional crimes Malfoy had committed and the insults he’d said during previous prefect meetings when she finally came to what happened after Harry’d let his anger get the better of him. 

“And I didn’t know Ruffles taught you non-verbal spells!” She said with a curious look. “Malfoy was just,” She clapped her hands and sent one sailing ahead of the other. “He didn’t know what hit him. I was so surprised at the time that I forgot to ask, what was the spell?” 

Harry shrugged. “I think it was a bit less non-verbal and a bit more accidental.” 

“Are you sure?” Hermione blinked. “I swear I saw your wand move, but then, you had grabbed it rather sharply.” 

“For good reason. Ruffles doesn’t have the time to teach me non-verbals, and you know how awful Snuffles is at teaching.” Harry said with a strained laugh.

“He jumps across topics,” Ron moaned. “The last time I asked him to explain some of the political effects of Binns’s Goblin War of 1752 reading for my essay, I wound up learning about blackmarket trading on Ukranian Ironbelly’s.” 

Hermione tossed an interested look at Ron but he waved her off. “It wasn’t relevant, Binns had been looking for political effects.”

“Do you remember when he taught us how to quick-draw our wands though?” Harry asked and Ron nodded with a snort. Harry’d been six at the time and struggled to fit his wand up his sleeve, but it’d made for a pleasant memory. 

Sirius’s surprising niche talents made up for all of his odd tangents. 

“Let’s get back on topic. I want us to remember the encounter so we can relay it to Professor McGonagall. I do wonder if we might tell Professor Snape as well, seeing as Malfoy is in his house.” Hermione’s forehead wrinkled as she thought. “There’s also the matter of witnesses, they may tell a different story than we do.” 

Harry couldn’t bear hearing Snape’s tailored uncaring persona discussing Malfoy’s behaviour, especially not while he was still unable to let go of Malfoy’s comment. He knew Snape wouldn’t have told Lucius Malfoy. 

He wouldn’t. Snape wasn’t in the business of humiliating Harry any longer. 

Malfoy seemed to think he was, though. 

Malfoy was a liar. 

“Well go on anyway, Harry knocked Malfoy on his arse. Then what happened?” Ron asked. 

Hermione jumped back into the story and relayed all of what she’d shouted at Malfoy, as well as Malfoy’s following expressions. He’d apparently been terrified to let her close and couldn’t seem to keep his feet beneath him. She managed to split the story again then, discussing future and past crimes before remembering why she and Harry had been in the courtyard in the first place. 

“Bill! Oh, Ron, we need to owl Bill. Will you write to him?” She asked. “Because he’s a curse breaker, you see.”

They skipped up the Grand Staircase and attempted to push past the rush of flowing students but ultimately ended up swerving down the fifth floor corridor when the rush became too strong.

“No Hermione, I don’t see, you’ve gone every which way during this story.” Ron said as he juggled the books in his arms. “I can’t tell your left from your right, but sure, yeah, I’ll owl Bill.” He said before beginning a mimed conversation. “Dear Bill, Hermione’s gone mental and asked me to write to you. Oh, about what you ask? I dunno, she hasn’t said. Suppose I’ll get back to you about that. Lemme ask her when she’s less likely to hex me.” 

Hermione blew a frizzy curl from her forehead. “I’ll explain of course, though maybe not at present given the company.” Her eyes flashed over the other student’s loitering in the corridor. “I also want to discuss our new plan for Ruffles.” 

Ron twisted and looked as if he was about to ask, but his eyes widened and he quickly nudged Hermione and Harry into an alcove. Hermione nearly complained but shut her mouth when Umbridge’s girlish voice echoed down the corridor. The sound sent uncomfortable shudders through Harry and likely whoever else was nearby, as footsteps pounded past their hiding space, likely in an attempt to escape Umbridge’s eyes. 

He remembered idly that Umbridge had yet to request Harry return for another awful meeting. 

“So you see my point, Professor McGonagall.” Umbridge said once the corridor seemed suitably empty. 

“Professor Umbridge,” Professor McGonagall started. “I’m afraid that no matter how I see your point, it does not sit with Hogwarts curriculum standards.” Her voice lilted, nearly rolling into her Scottish accent, but refraining despite the frustration evident in her tone. “Every student deserves the finest education we, as educators, can give them.” 

“Yes, Professor. I hear you,” Umbridge said. “I am not asking to deliver a subpar education to my students.” 

Hermione’s hand slipped around Harry’s and she pushed closer to Ron as the two professor’s neared their alcove.

“In fact, I think you’ll find that I’m hardly asking anything at all. I am treating this more as a courtesy to you. Consider it an official notice.” Umbridge said. “Despite the student’s who’ve informed you of their displeasure with how I run my classroom, I simply won’t be bullied—”

“Bullied!? Dolores—” 

“Yes, dear, bullied into conforming to your unrealistic expectations.” The sound of Umbridge’s self-satisfied cough rang around them and Harry silently thanked McGonagall for walking on the right, as she neatly covered Harry, Ron and Hermione from Umbridge’s view. “The ministry has seen a concerning outcome from your previous educators, some of which, I’d like to remind you, were half-breeds—”

“Remus Lupin is not half of anything Dolores. He was a fine educator. He knew his subject and the student’s adored him.” 

“Then why was a tracking charm placed on him this past summer, hmm?” Umbridge asked. “Do you know what that charm signals within the Ministry?” She asked as they moved farther from the alcove. “A dangerous, often wild animal we need to be aware of, for the safety of all who we work so diligently for, Minerva.” 

“Dolores, I will not allow you to—”

“You have no power to allow or disallow me anything, Minerva.” Umbridge said as her heels clicked down the corridor. “Any students who find my subject is not being taught to their expectations can take it up with me from now on. Do direct them accordingly.” 

McGonagall whirled around and stormed down the other side of the corridor. Harry wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen her in such a fierce mood and he was suddenly very worried for whoever had complained to her about Umbridge’s class. 

“Who do you suppose complained?” Ron asked, echoing Harry’s thoughts as he led them from the alcove. 

“Does it matter?” Hermione said in a high-strung voice. “This means we really won’t be practicing any magic this term. How are any of us supposed to pass an O.W.L. when we’ve never so much as practiced the incantation!” 

“Practicing this term?” Ron gave her a disbelieving look. “We won’t be practicing any magic this _year._ I’m pretty sure McGonagall isn’t someone you’re supposed to talk down to like that, given she’s our deputy headmistress.” 

“I don’t suppose Umbridge worries much about that.” Harry said in a grim tone. “She probably thinks she’s above McGonagall.” 

He wondered idly if it was Hermione who’d complained to McGonagall, but he assumed she’d have told Ron and Harry about it if she had. He almost wished McGonagall had mentioned who had complained, as Harry dearly wished to know what McGonagall’s response had been. 

“No, I reckon you’re right.” Ron shook his head. “She just reminds me so much of Percy. I hope he hates her. I won’t tolerate a member of my own family enjoying her company.” 

“Do you think McGonagall will take student complaints, despite this?” Hermione asked. “I don’t want to let Malfoy’s behaviour go undocumented, especially not when there were so many witnesses. Surely this classifies as something that should be dealt with immediately.” 

Harry shook his head ‘no’. “I don’t think we should bother McGonagall, at least not at the moment. We might want to give her some time.” He silently promised to avoid bringing it up to Snape as well, given how much the man was already working on for Harry. He might mention general bullying the next time Harry saw him, but he silently swore not to add anything else onto his overfilled plate.

If Harry were even half as busy as Snape, he’d likely be in the Hospital Wing babbling hysterically about stress and pulling his hair out. 

He wondered again if Snape did tell Lucius Malfoy about Harry’s condition? 

“We could always try Dumbledore?” Ron said. “I mean, if McGonagall doesn’t solve the problem, I’m sure Dumbledore can.” 

“He’s already looking into Umbridge.” Harry said as he wrinkled his nose. “He’s keeping that close watch of his on her.” 

“Well, maybe he’d like some help in that endeavor?” Ron asked. “I stole a few more extendable ears from Fred and George.” 

“No.” Hermione said firmly. “We’ve been lucky to avoid Umbridge so far. We can’t go investigating her, it would give her a reason to call us down to her office and she’d potentially do to us what she’s already done to Harry.” She said as she pointed at herself and Ron. “I partially think that’s why she hasn’t summoned you again, Harry, despite never having had her question about the summer answered.”

“What?” Harry asked. He’d honestly thought Dumbledore had stepped in on that enquiry, and told Umbridge to bugger off. He hadn’t thought Umbridge was just leaving him alone. 

That was too easy and he’d spent more than several sleepless nights worrying about it. 

Hermione’s eyes flashed over him. “I think she’s waiting and hoping you’ll come crawling back. She probably expects you to give in and ask for the cure. Once she has you in her grasp, she’ll likely strike again, though I don’t know what with.” 

A fuzzy memory blinked into Harry’s mind and he was reminded of the way Uncle Vernon used to taunt him by taking a full dinner plate past the cupboard when he wanted to watch telly in the sitting room. There were two ways into that room, the quicker route was from the kitchen directly and Uncle Vernon always chose to go through the front hall. There had never been anything overt about Uncle Vernon’s behaviour, as he’d never asked Harry if he was hungry when he walked past or if Harry felt like apologizing for whatever had landed him in his cupboard. He’d simply walked past, sometimes more than once in search of second or even third helpings. 

Uncle Vernon had never opened the cupboard door and given him anything, not even when Harry’d given in and apologized for whatever it was he’d done. He’d liked Harry to smell what he couldn’t have and think about his misbehaviour. 

Umbridge was just the same. 

“She can wait all she likes.” Harry said in a fierce voice. “I’ll die choking.” 

“Yes, I rather thought you’d say that.” Hermione said. “We’ll just have to take matters into our own hands.”

“What exactly does that mean?” Ron asked with a raised eyebrow.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and if you did, please leave a comment below. Poor Harry's in the thick of it and Malfoy is the least helpful character to encounter.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it and if you did, please leave a comment below! I light up when I read them! 🖤
> 
> I will update weekly!


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